


Uncertainty

by MandalorianHybrid



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalorianHybrid/pseuds/MandalorianHybrid
Summary: Sweeney knows a lot of Gods, but he knows more mythical beings, including those with a touch of Death. After the ice cream truck wreck, the Mad King takes Laura to someone who might be able to patch her up before they meet Ostara, someone Laura's shocked to meet. It's easy for her to forget that the Ginger Minge actually has a past.Possibly turning into a smutty smut story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mad Sweeney is one of my favorite characters so I decided to add a little more to his background. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and I might turn this into a relatively smutty story. Like, heavy smut. If anyone's interested in that, let me know. 
> 
> Buile Shuibhne (boo-la heena) because Irish is competing with French for the absolute weirdest way to pronounce words.
> 
> Tove (toe-vay)

The song had played on a loop for nearly an hour. The once dulcet tune was warped and unnatural, twisted because of the crash. Laura had pressed the button to shut it off so many times that she put her finger through the dashboard, and still the child-like melody would play.

"Here," Sweeney pointed to a parking lot.

Laura did as he said and guided the crumbling ice cream truck into the parking lot. It was nearly abandoned given the day, but there were still cars scattered throughout. It was Easter Sunday, and yet, people were still getting drunk and paying for overpriced steak dinners.

As she threw the vehicle into park, Laura dragged her milky gaze to the man at her side. Mad Sweeney looked anything but happy about where they were. He stared back at the building, the restaurant and bar, with his jaw tight. His lips were set in a tense line.

Silence continued to stretch between them, making the already short-tempered young woman even more so. She had no patience for bullshit, not when they were so close to her getting her life back, and his cryptic attitude wasn't helping things.

"The fuck are we doing here?" She demanded.

Sweeney's hazel eyes flickered to her briefly. With a sigh, he exited the truck. While he untangled himself from the multiple layers of blankets and coats he'd swathed himself with, Laura leapt out of the truck and charged around the twisted front end.

"Why are we here?" She snapped hatefully.

Laura barely had patience when it came to Mad Sweeney at the best of times. When he was obscure or outright silent, that patience disappeared entirely. In fact, it took nearly all of her strength not to physically assault him because if she did, she'd probably kill him.

"We're getting' you fixed up." He finally told her as he slammed his crooked door shut.

"I thought we were already on our way to do that?" She said. Sweeney said nothing as he stepped around the front of the ice cream truck and headed toward the building. "Wait," Laura snapped as she jogged after him. "How many people do you know with this _resurrection_ thing?"

Sweeney shrugged a single shoulder in what was perhaps the most nonchalant response Laura had seen to such a strange question.

"Few, I s'pose." He replied.

Laura couldn't believe her ears. How? Just… how? How was any of it possible?

"Who's this one, hm? Another Jesus?"

Mad Sweeney glanced down at the young woman who didn't even reach his shoulders, staring down his nose at the irritating mass of necrotic flesh given life by his coin.

He reached for the door and paused briefly to say, "My wife."

Laura went still. The world around her stopped at the utterance of two simple words. Mad Sweeney, seemingly amused or at least not surprised by her reaction, disappeared inside leaving her on the sidewalk struggling to wrap her mind around what he'd said.

"W-" She mumbled before her mind seemed to snap to. "Wife?!"

Laura threw open the door to the restaurant and charged in after Sweeney. She spotted him at the bar easily. A ginger man standing a head above those surrounding him was never hard to find. She was at his side in an instant.

"Wife?" she repeated in the same disbelieving tone as before.

Mad Sweeney glanced down at her only briefly. "Yeah," He said with a sharp nod.

The bartender arrived shortly after, while Laura continued to try and wrap her mind around the moment, and slid two drinks forward. Sweeney grabbed the clear glass filled with equally crystalline liquid and offered it to her.

"Here's your Russian piss." He told her.

She didn't bother acknowledging it. Meanwhile, he swallowed mouthfuls of his Southern Comfort and Coke as though he were a man dying of thirst. It was gone in less time than it would have taken to make, the empty glass slammed against the bar's surface an instant later.

"You're married?"

If Laura had attempted to remove the skeptical and –frankly- stunned tone from her voice, she hadn't succeeded. As it was, the tone was actually insulting and his stern expression told her as much. She simply didn't care.

"Yeah," He answered shortly.

"Who, _the fuck_ , would marry you?" Thick, unmistakable derision stained every word. He said nothing as he flagged down the bartender for another drink. As it was poured, Laura continued to press. "Was she drunk?"

Sweeney raised his brows and nodded while a heavy sigh left his lips. "We both was." He admitted. "Still not quite sure how it happened, really." He lifted his glass to his lips. "There were swords and," A look of true confusion took his features as he searched his memory further, "Think we sacrificed a goat."

Laura continued to stare at him in disbelief as he finished off his second drink since they walked through the door only a few minutes prior.

"And that means you're married?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he just stared at her as though her questions were perhaps some of the most mundane he'd ever heard. The expression written across his face angered her. It scratched at something deep within, at an insecurity she'd had most of her life. Laura was used to people looking at her like that, with that dismissive glare because she was too small, or too pretty, or too delicate. As a result, she learned to sharpen her tongue and spit venom when she felt that same ol' insecurity rise.

"So," Her voice was monotone and flat, "She's a troll then." Sweeney narrowed his gaze and tilted his head marginally to the side. "She'd have to be. That's probably why she had to get drunk to marry you, too."

Sweeney responded with a short scoff and a shake of the head. He turned away from her and once more to the bartender. Laura finally reached for her drink and gulped it down easily.

"Tove 'ere?" Sweeney asked the man behind the bar.

"Yeah, in back."

"Then go get 'er." He replied shortly.

The bartender scowled at the rude leprechaun, but did as he was told. Sweeney shook his head as he removed his cigarette rolling supplies from his pocket and began to roll himself a new one.

By the time he'd finished, the back door opened once more and the bartender emerged with, who Laura assumed was, Tove behind him. She wasn't a troll.

The young woman wearing a form-fitting, white, long-sleeved dress glided out of the backroom in a pair of four-inch black stilettos. She moved so fluidly, it made her look otherworldly.

She was beautiful, exuding an almost angelic glow that wasn't lost on Laura. Deep, raven-colored hair was braided and slung over her shoulder. Her heart-shaped face was cut with high cheek bones. Her full lips held a pink hue that the rest of her ivory skin lacked and her unnaturally bright, ice-blue eyes missed nothing.

But she was intimidating, as well. The closer she drew to them, the more Laura realized that the stranger was the same height as Sweeney, towering over those she passed. Her shoulders were broad, her hips the same despite a narrow waist, and undeniably thick thighs strained against the white fabric of her dress. She was built like an Amazon and given the world Laura found herself in, that may be a genuine description.

She made Laura feel uncomfortable, though. It was odd, and intense, and Dead Wife didn't appreciate it. It was as though waves of unseen power emanated from the dark-haired beauty, but a terrifying sort of power -like, if Laura pissed her off, she'd shred the corpse with ease.

"Wife," Sweeney greeted the young woman with a sort of cool detachment that seemed odd for a supposedly married couple. But, honestly, Laura was more stunned that the brunette was the woman he supposedly wed. She must have been _really_ drunk.

Her response was quick and to the point. Somehow, without ripping her dress, Tove lifted her leg and slammed her foot into Sweeney's chest. The giant was instantly taken from his feet and sailed through the air, followed by the stunned gasps and gawking faces of the patrons that surrounded them.

He hit the floor hard, groaning as he held the center of his chest. Laura watched as Tove closed the distance between them. She walked up the length of his body and stood over the leprechaun. When Sweeney tried to stand, she planted the toe of her expensive shoe against his chest. He opened his eyes and stared up at her with a furious glare.

"Buile Shuidhne," She said in response. Her voice, smooth and sweet, forced Laura to shudder. A crooked smirk tugged at the corner of Sweeney's lips as he looked up at her. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat the shit out of you right now." The soft English lilt made her sound far more innocent than a woman of her size should.

Sweeney chuckled. He folded his arms and propped up his head, making no move to actually fight the woman keeping him pinned to the ground. In fact, he looked content to remain.

"Wish we had time for the foreplay, love, but we're here on business."

Tove's eyes drifted to Laura. It was the first time she'd acknowledged the young woman since appearing, and the moment her eyes fell to the Dead Wife, Laura felt a chill –real and powerful- sweep through her body.

"Well," Tove removed her foot from Sweeney's chest, allowing him to finally rise to his feet. "We'd better handle this upstairs."

Sweeney dusted himself off as best he could and motioned for Laura to follow. She had no intentions of remaining in the restaurant alone where people would be even more aware that her skin was literally falling off her body.

The pair followed Tove through the backroom and up a narrow staircase that led to the second floor. Beyond a thin, stock wooden door, Laura found herself in an apartment. There wasn't much to it, but it was nice, filled with brand new furniture that looked as though it had barely been used, and with windows that let in every hint of light. Sweeney broke off and retired to the dining room table while Tove slinked into the kitchen leaving Laura to explore.

Both the kitchen and dining room were to her left. The living room was directly across from her, and the bedroom was to the right. Everything was open and only interfered upon by a single wall just to the other side of the staircase. Laura rationalized that it was likely the bathroom, or perhaps the door that led to the storage since there was clearly a lot more to the second floor of the building than what she was seeing.

"So," Tove's voice drew Laura back into the moment. The giantess was in the process of taking Sweeney a bottle of dark brown liquid and a pair of glasses. "Why did you bring me a dead girl, hm?"

Sweeney lit his cigarette and inhaled a lungful of smoke before releasing it. With a heavy gaze, he glanced to her.

"Need ya to fix 'er up."

"You're joking, right?"

Sweeney only shook his head. Tove let out a loud, disbelieving scoff. Her long, slender legs carried her easily to Laura's side, where she proceeded to inspect the dead woman as though she were lying on a slab.

"This is beyond my help, darling." Tove said as she picked at the flaps of flesh. "I can't do anything with this, expect perhaps repair it."

"I seen you bring people back before."

"To a freshly dead body." She said in protest. "Still warm to the touch. If I bound her soul to this, she'd still continue to rot. Her body is all but useless now."

"Hey!" Laura had finally snapped. She could no longer take being spoken about as though she weren't there and reacted. She swatted at Tove's hands and shoved the young woman, hard. Sweeney winced, but nothing happened. Tove hadn't even taken a step back.

Laura stared at her hands in shock. Not two hours ago she'd lifted and overturned ice cream truck, so she knew the strength was there, but nothing happened. Tove was unfazed by the outburst.

"Do you want my help, or not?" Tove asked. Her voice was tight, reflecting the agitation that stained her otherwise attractive face.

"What the fuck?" Laura stammered. "How… what the fuck?!"

Tove didn't reply. Instead, she approached Sweeney, turned her back to him, and patted her shoulder. He rose to his feet and began to unzip her dress like she'd silently demanded.

"This mean yer gonna help?" He asked around the cigarette clamped between his lips.

"Let me change first." She sighed. "If I get embalming fluid or anything else on this dress, I'll never get it off."

When the zipper reached the bottom of the line, she headed for her bedroom. Laura was barely in the moment, still lost in what happened only seconds ago, and charged after her for answers.

"Why didn't I hurt you?" she asked as Tove, with her back to the room, peeled the dress from her body.

"Were you trying to?" She asked casually.

"Well,… that's usually what happens." Laura noticed that within seconds Tove was standing in nothing more than a white thong. "Aren't you going to change in the bathroom or something?"

Tove gave the dead girl her attention. She arched a brow and rested a hand on her hips. "Why?" Tove asked plainly. "This the first pair of tits you've ever seen?"

It was Laura's turn to give Tove an annoyed, sarcastic glare. Seemingly content with her response, Tove continued reaching for her clothing to change. Laura watched her for only a moment before turning her back. She felt as though staring at the young woman's chest, whether it was nice or not, was a little skeezy. Sweeney wasn't as reserved, and happily spied from his seat. He even tilted his head to the side and drew his bottom lip through his teeth as he stared. Laura scowled. If Sweeney was attempting to look anything but pervy, he was failing horribly.

A moment later, Tove glided into view as she rejoined the pair wearing a thinly strapped shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. "I'm far too old to care about puritanical ideals." Sweeney chuckled at that. "Come here so I can better see you."

Laura did as she was beckoned and this time allowed Tove to look her over. She examined the young woman as best she could with clothing on before apparently deciding on something.

"I can close you up." She said, "And remove whatever maggots have made their home in you. I can even do something about the stench, but as far as bringing you back, that's beyond me."

"That the bes' you can do?" Sweeney chided from his seat.

Tove rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I deal in souls, Shuibhne, not bodies. Lie there," She told Laura, pointing to a bare patch of floor between the kitchen and the living room. "I'm going to gather everything I'll need." She looked at Sweeney, "And you're going to help me."

With a grumble under his breath and a sigh, Sweeney tossed his nearly-finished cigarette into the unused glass Tove had given him, and rose to his feet. She guided him to the random door Laura had spotted, then through. From her position on the floor, Laura only barely caught a glimpse of the inside. It looked like a substantial storage closet.

Within the storage area, Tove searched the shelves for the supplies she'd need in order to repair the dead body in the other room. She needed industrial supplies, things people used to repair houses, but that wasn't her main issue. She was still upset with the man looming behind her.

"I can't believe you brought me a corpse." She said as she searched through the restaurant's calk inventory. "You didn't honestly think I could bring her back, did you?"

He didn't verbally reply, but when she glanced behind her, she noticed him shrug and give her what could only be described as a _meh_ expression.

"Then why bother?" She asked, snatching a tube of white calking from the shelf and handing it to him.

"Maybe I jus' wanted to see my wife?"

Tove scoffed and shook her head as she returned to the task at hand. She and Sweeney weren't that sort of couple, and he knew it. But with her back turned, Tove heard the sound of plastic hitting the ground. Before she had the chance to look, Sweeney was on her. He reached around her body, grasping her chest firmly as he pulled her back against him. A trill of excitement moved down her spine.

Sweeney buried his face in her hair, nuzzling the crook behind her ear. "You think I'm lyin'?" He growled deeply.

"Yes," She said. "What do you plan to do about it, Irishman?"

His response was quick. Sweeney suddenly spun her and shoved Tove's back into the shelves she'd been previously looking through. She grunted from the force. Before she could react, she felt Sweeney's massive paw around her throat. Tove opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her. The intense stare made her heart flutter. She loved it when he was so brutally dominant, and he was well aware.

The hand that had been resting lazily on her waist glided down her body. He pushed it easily past the elastic band of her shorts. Tove bit back the cry of pleasure that threatened to leave her lips when she felt his hand between her legs, but her eyes drifted shut and her head fell back against the shelves. Sweeney's grip on her throat loosened, but didn't leave her as he leaned forward. He pressed his forehead gently against hers. Tove reached out and clung limply to his denim jacket while he continued to touch her. Blind with her eyes closed, she was left with nothing but her sense of touch and she relished it.

"Maybe," He whispered. His voice was gruffer than before, deeper and tainted with lust. "I jus' wanted to be inside my wife."

Tove wasn't given the chance to speak before he slid a pair of fingers inside her. She let out a subtle moan at the feeling and Sweeney instantly claimed her lips. Tove returned the affection gladly and within seconds, passions grew.

While they nipped at one another, while they kissed and their tongues dueled, Tove reached for his trousers and began to undo them. No sooner than they were unzipped were they interrupted.

"Hey!" Laura shouted angrily from the other room. With a frustrated growl, the pair parted and looked at the door. "I'm still waiting!"

Tove saw Sweeney's jaw clench as he muttered a few choice, hateful words in ancient Gaelic. And yet, despite their desire to remain as they were, they drew back. She could see his frustration and shared it, honestly. She wasn't happy with the interruption, either.

"Fuckin' witch." He grumbled.

Tove smirked, but agreed. With sharp, frustrated movements, Sweeney zipped and buttoned his trousers again. She could see him straining against the fabric. It probably hurt.

"We're far from finished." She said, drawing his eye. "Trust me."

He arched a thick brow. He didn't look as though he believed her. She didn't blame him.

Bending down, Tove retrieved the calking and a roll of duct tape. She approached him again and gave Sweeney a deep kiss before returning to the apartment. He didn't immediately join her, and she didn't blame him. When he did, he looked almost as unhappy as Laura, but no longer sported an erection. It made sense that he'd try to get the "beast" back under control before he returned.

"Go ahead and get something to eat downstairs. Tell them it's on me, hm?" She told the giant.

He nodded and shot Laura a parting glance before disappearing through the door that brought them to the second floor.

When he was gone, Tove knelt down beside Laura and went to work. Laura wanted to protest, but she wasn't entirely certain what to do. So, she laid there, while Tove opened her shirt and exposed her –fully and completely- to the room.

"Are you seriously going to duct tape me?" Laura asked with a cold, even voice.

Tove met her eye and with all sincerity replied, "Yes." She unrolled some duct tape and tore it from the mass. She began to tear it into even smaller strips. "Your skin is rotting. It can't be sewn again because it will rip. From the looks of it, you've already been sewn together a few times."

"And… the calking?"

"To fill the holes." She said far too casually for Laura's liking.

"Yeah, well, we're supposed to go get me resurrected later today, so that probably isn't necessary." She said, a little uneasily.

A half-smile twitched at the corner of Tove's lips. "You'd be surprised how quickly flies can work."

Laura grimaced.

The two didn't speak again while Tove went to work. She examined Laura closely and –to Laura's disgust- she began to eventually pluck maggots from her body. Laura cringed and fought the urge to vomit while Tove, as calmly and collectedly as she'd been thus far, retrieved the glass Sweeney had been using as an ashtray and dropped them within.

Laura attempted to keep herself busy for what would most likely be a time-consuming venture. Given she was being "operated" on, the best she could manage was examining her surroundings, and Tove was the closest thing to her.

Her face never changed, even as she dipped into Laura's opened chest to pluck out wiggling bugs. She never flinched, never cringed, never anything. Her nose didn't curl from the smell, either. She was entirely unaffected by the dead body beneath her, which was a surprising enough thing.

When she was finished with Laura's left side, Tove stood and stepped over her, crouching down again at Laura's right to continue. It was only then Laura noticed that Tove had tattoos. The first was substantial, and the black ink should have caught her attention instantly, but Laura rationalized that she'd been too rattled since arriving to see it.

An animal Laura couldn't immediately identify adorned her left arm. It's head was just around the front of her shoulder, not so far as to be on her chest, but forward enough it wouldn't be visible from the side. It proceeded to curled around her shoulder, a bit of her back, and then down the length of her arm where it ended just below her elbow. It was a vicious creature with a winding body and a banner of runes. The shading consisted of a thousand small dots. It was amazing, both in execution and the level of detail. It exuded the same power as the woman wearing it.

Part of it seemed to vanish beneath her shirt, as well. It probably led to something else, but the next tattoo she could see was another animal on her thigh. The second tattoo, she could tell, was a serpent of some kind. Like the first, it coiled around itself, twisted and curled. There was more runic writing, and more stippled shading. It was as impressive as the other.

The pair had two things in common that wasn't lost on Laura. They were both incredibly masculine, and yet suited the young woman completely. Another thing she spotted quickly was their overwhelmingly Viking aesthetic.

Her gaze drifted to the young woman leaning over her. If she noticed, she didn't let on. Instead, Tove began to pull Laura's skin together and affix it into place with strips of duct tape.

"Why didn't you go flying when I pushed you earlier?" Laura asked, seemingly out of nowhere. Given everything she'd seen since meeting Tove, that probably wasn't the most pressing, but it bothered her. A lot. Especially since, while Tove and Sweeney were gone, she bent one of Tove's knives just to prove she could.

Tove's eyes flickered to her briefly before she continued with her work. "The dead have no effect on me." Her voice stayed light and calm. "You'll never be able to harm me."

Laura's brows twitched together briefly. That was such an odd response that it prompted a follow-up question whether she realized it or not.

"What are you?"

Tove took a deep breath and let it out as a gentle sigh. She seemed to muse over something unsaid while she continued to "stitch" Laura's chest together with tape.

"I have a few names." She replied. "I am a Demon of the Dead, a Shield Maiden, and a Chooser of the Slain." Laura felt that icy chill return. "Your Anglo ancestors saw me as an Angel of Death, but where I come from, I'm am simply Valkyrie."

"Valkyrie," Laura repeated with his brows furrowed high. Tove nodded. "That means you're a God, too, right?"

Tove curled her nose and tilted her head marginally from left to right. "Not quite. Magical, not a God."

When the tape was tightly affixed and Laura's skin was sufficiently pulled together, Tove reached for the calking gun. She pushed a small bead from the nozzle and began to trail it along Laura's Y incision.

"And you're married to the leprechaun?"

Tove smirked at Laura's tone while she kept her eyes on the task at hand. "We think so."

"How do you not know if you married someone?" She didn't understand how neither person involved couldn't know. Shouldn't one of them have some idea?

"Lots and lots of alcohol." Tove smiled. "Marriage ceremonies were much simpler back then. In some cultures, stepping over a broom holding someone's hand means you're wed. In others, walking clockwise around a certain stone, a tree, or your home means the same. So, yes, we think we're married."

"That's fucking weird." Laura said with a sigh. She reached for her jacket, doing her best not to jostle too much, and removed her cigarettes. She took one out, lit it, and inhaled the noxious smoke. Tove absently pushed the glass closer to her, the one with the ashes and wriggling maggots within. "So, Valkyries have a thing for leprechauns, hm?"

Tove grinned and shook her head a little. Memories of Mad Sweeney, of the man he was and images of who he would be flooded her mind and caused her heart to flutter just a little.

"We have a thing for warriors." She said. "And he was a great warrior." Laura scoffed derisively causing Tove to arch a brow. "Given the world you find yourself in, perhaps you should do a bit more research, hm?" Laura eyed her. "It may help you out in the future."

Tove continued to calk the holes in Laura's skin, helped bind the stitching together so the ever-present flies couldn't wiggle their way in. When she was finished, she set the calking gun aside and gave her work a once over.

"This will take some time to dry. Try to remain still, okay?" She rose to her feet and retrieved something out of sight before returning to Laura's side. She offered the young woman a smart phone. "To keep you busy. I'm going to check on Buile Shuibhne."

Laura tenderly took the offered piece of tech. "Why do you keep calling him that?"

"Because it's his name." She replied simply. "I'll be back in a little while."

Laura nodded, though she wasn't sure why, and watched as Tove disappeared through the door. When she was gone, Laura clamped her cigarette between her teeth and unlocked the smart phone. Perhaps trying to find out everything she could about her current company wasn't such a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweeney was sat in a back booth, gnawing on the remnants of what used to be a 32 ounce porterhouse steak –with full sides, and a twenty-year-old Irish whiskey to wash it down. He fully abused Tove’s offer for food and drink on the house. He’d feel guilty if he thought it’d put her out in the least.

 

It was tender and well-seasoned, but it did little to alleviate the weight on his shoulders. He felt bogged down by everything, from the coming war to the guilt at sacrificing the young woman upstairs. He still hadn’t come to terms with giving her the coin back. Part of him cursed the action over and over, berated him for being so stupid. He could have saved himself mountains of trouble if he’d just walked away.

 

The other side, a smaller, but persistent side, reminded him that he owed her. He had murdered a relatively innocent young woman. Mad Sweeney was a lot of things. He was a mad king, a cursed blasphemer, a traitor, and a coward. He was a drunk, an asshole, and everything in between. He’d killed many people through his long life, but never had he taken the life of someone who didn’t deserve it. At the very least, they were able to defend themselves. What he did to Laura Moon was worse. There was no honor in it, which, despite the last few decades, still meant something to the Celtic king.

 

So he felt obligated to return the coin to her chest, to give her the temporary life it’d granted her. He thought –whether foolishly or not- that if he somehow found a way to resurrect her, it’d wipe his slate clean. If he was lucky, maybe it would give him better balance when it was him time before the scales.

 

He drank the stinging alcohol in one long gulp, washing down the steak he’d been chewing on. When he set the glass back down, he spotted Tove weaving through the area heading for him. She looked entirely out of place wearing what most might sleep in, and no shoes. If she didn’t own the establishment, they probably would have thrown her out.

 

Whether he could help it or not, Sweeney was still in awe of her at first sight. It was simply a byproduct of her kind, no different than with mermaids, sirens, sprites, or nymphs. It was their beauty that would distract humans –or men in general- from how dangerous they really were. In the case of the Valkyrie, Sweeney assumed it was to calm the warriors they reaped. Then again, it could just as easily been because the Vikings who dreamt them into existence dreamt them as being the most beautiful women in Scandinavia.

 

She slid easily into the booth beside him and settled into place.

 

“Where’s the Dead Wife?” He asked as he sliced into his steak.

 

She noticed the mass of dead cow on his plate and arched a brow to it, but didn’t comment.

 

“Drying.” She replied simply. “She has a mouth on her, doesn’t she?”

 

Sweeney scoffed sarcastically. “That mouth o’ hers what got her in this mess.”

 

Tove didn’t remark on his comment. She leaned back and got somewhat comfortable in her seat. She fit in the booth about as well as he did. Sweeney might have had about five inches in height on the six-foot-tall Valkyrie, but they both had long legs that struggled to fit beneath most any table.

 

“Are you taking her to Ostara?” Tove asked.

 

Sweeney stabbed another chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth. “Aye,” he said around it before he began to chew.

 

“Why? Why is this girl so important to you?”

 

Sweeney’s chewing had hesitated as he thought briefly on how to answer, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he did his best to appear more in control and nonchalant than he felt.

 

“Cause I need to.” He said.

 

He suddenly felt a chill creep down his spine, one that raised the hair on the back of his neck and his arms. He knew it was Tove and didn’t want to look up to confirm it, but the action was reflexive. She was staring at him blankly, with no expression twisting her features one way or the other, but he still felt the power behind it. She was disappointed, or angry, and it caused a very real chill in him.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“The truth, Shuibhne.” Her voice was as icy as her eyes.

 

He fought the urge to say anything at all, but as before, he reacted instinctually, and the truth spilled out regardless of his desires.

 

“She has my coin.” He reluctantly told her. Tove arched a single brow. “It’s what’s keepin’ her alive, alright?” Her other brow rose to meet it. “I need to get her kickin’ again so I can get it back.”

 

“Just take it back.” She said as though the choice should’ve been obvious.

 

“I can’t.” He hissed through his teeth. “I gave the fuckin’ thing to ‘er man, and he gave it to her. I _can’t_ fuckin’ take it back.”

 

“I can.” She said with a shrug. “I can go upstairs right now and pluck it out of her body.”

 

When he didn’t immediately reply, Tove seemed to take his silence as her answer and attempted to rise, only to be grabbed by Sweeney and yanked back down into her seat. He held her wrist firmly, but wouldn’t meet her eye for more than a second.

 

“Don’t.” He muttered under his breath.

 

Tove settled in her seat once again and his hold relaxed as a result. She readjusted herself and gave him her full attention.

 

“Perhaps you should tell me _exactly_ what’s going on.”

 

Sweeney took in a deep breath and let it out in another long sigh. He’d hoped to avoid the truth, but there was little else he could do at the moment.

 

* * *

 

 

Upstairs, Laura was still lying on the floor where Tove had left her, reading one page after another about the leprechaun Mad Sweeney. It took her a little longer than she would have liked to find anything on him that she’d believe, but she eventually managed. Laura took what he’d said in the truck before their wreck and used it as a template. If what she was reading was true, she… well, she didn’t know what to think.

 

Wikipedia was where she finally found her “answers”.

 

“The Madness of Sweeney,” She mumbled to herself, “Is an old folktale… blah, blah, blah…” She scanned ahead, “The curse of Saint Ronan caused the king of Dal nAraidi…” She knew she butchered the name the moment it left her lips. “In Ulster, Ireland. Hm,”

 

Laura continued to read and learned that the Mad King was angry the church was trying to encroach on his property. Pissed off, he confronted them and killed a monk with a spear. Saint Ronan cursed him with insanity. Apparently, that insanity caused him to flee the Battle of Mag Rath.

 

_That must be the battle he was talking about._ She thought to herself.

 

Further on the page, it said that while he wandered, the king crossed paths with Saint Ronan again, attacked him, and was cursed… again. Laura had to admit that sounded about right. She could see the dumbass picking fights with the same person more than once.

 

The legend rounded out by saying that the second curse was for Mad Sweeney to wander the world as a bird, never able to settle, and that he’d eventually die at the end of a spear.

 

Laura wasn’t entirely certain how to comprehend what she’d read. She almost didn’t want to believe it because, naturally, it was fucking ridiculous. On the other hand, she was dead and moving around.

 

Curiously, she clicked on a link that would tell her what the Battle of Mag Rath was, and felt her jaw drop.

 

“Holy shit,” She said to herself. One line stood out in stark detail to her. _The Battle of Moira, known archaically as the Battle of Magh Rath, was fought in the summer of 637 AD._

 

If that was true, Mad Sweeney was well over a thousand years old.

 

When she looked up leprechauns, she wasn’t given anything overly helpful. It was a lot of shit about making shoes, or granting wishes if caught. None of it suited the man she’d spent the last couple of days with. Strangely enough, the leprechaun lore was easier for her to dismiss, especially since they were –according to the internet- tiny little creatures. Mad Sweeney, most definitely, wasn’t a tiny little creature.

 

Next, Laura did a quick search about Valkyries, though she figured she had a fair idea of what they were. Then again, maybe she didn’t? It wasn’t as though she ever thought they’d be real, too.

 

“Goddesses of life, death, battle, and magic,” She read on an obscure answer site. “Divine escorts of souls, knew that.” She mumbled and skipped ahead through the short paragraph until finding something more interesting.

 

Valkyrie would apparently ride into battle, descending from the heavens on the backs of giant, ethereal wolves, not horses. Their battle cries would strike fear and awe into the warriors below, but they didn’t actually fight. Instead, they’d remain in the background and choose who would die and who would win. After the battle was over, they’d take those they picked to one of two halls, either Valhalla or Fólkvangr.

 

They were fierce, brave, and vicious women who served the highest of the Norse Gods. They could transform into either ravens or swans, and had a habit of falling in love with other warriors, but one thing caught her attention and refused to let it go.

 

_Valkyries were the personal warriors of the Norse God, Odin, and fulfilled his wishes in the mortal realm, Midgard._

 

Laura’s jaw tightened. In parenthesis next to Odin’s name were a few additional names that she assumed were his aliases. One of them struck a chord: Grimnir. She’d heard that word before, that name. Sweeney had said it while she was kicking his ass in the hotel room

 

According to Sweeney, Wednesday was Grimnir, and according to the article Grimnir was Odin himself. That meant Tove was serving the man keeping her from Shadow and that made Laura very, _very_ angry. As far as she knew, Tove wasn’t helping her. Instead, she was helping Wednesday keep her away from her husband.

 

As she lay on the floor, Laura’s anger grew. She nearly vibrated with rage, making herself madder and madder as the seconds ticked by. She was tired of Gods getting in her way, of assholes keeping her from Shadow. She’d had enough of it.

 

Minutes after her rage had hit its fever pitch, the door to the apartment opened, and Tove and Sweeney entered. Laura shot to her feet and charged angrily towards the towering woman.

 

“Where is he?!” she demanded.

 

Tove and Sweeney were temporarily stunned, surprised into silence by her sudden accusations.

 

“Who?”

 

“Shadow.” She said angrily. “Where is he?”

 

Sweeney sighed and rolled his eyes. He stepped around the two and regained the seat he’d once had at the dining room table leaving Tove to deal with the furious corpse.

 

“How should I know?” Tove replied nonchalantly.

 

She took a step to the side with every intention of moving around Laura, but the angry little woman was unwilling to let that happen. She reached out and grabbed Tove by the arm, holding it as tightly as she could while she stared hatefully up at the Valkyrie with increasingly muddying eyes.

 

“Where. Is. Shadow?” She repeated through a tight jaw. “I may not be able to hurt you, but I can break every bone in your little hubby’s body.” The serious tone left her voice immediately, replaced with a downright chipper sound. “I don’t think it’ll kill him. I mean, you guys are technically immortal, right?”

 

Laura ended her threat with a flash of a smile. She released Tove’s arm as well and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for an answer. Sweeney remained in his seat with a lighter inches from the end of his cigarette, frozen in the moment. His eyes danced between the two young women, waiting for whatever was about to happen. Laura, meanwhile, was quite proud of her threat. She’d become rather good at them in recent days.

 

But Tove’s reaction wasn’t what she expected. A wide smile spread across her full lips, one big enough that Laura was given a glimpse of her perfect, pearly-white teeth. A gentle giggle formed in the Valkyrie’s throat.

 

“That was foolish.” She cooed before, suddenly, she reacted.

 

Tove’s hand shot out faster than Laura could register, and wrapped around the dead woman’s throat. Laura suddenly felt the weight of her body pulling down on her neck from where Tove held her, and her feet leaving the ground. Slowly, she became eyelevel with the Viking until she was forced to look down her nose at Tove. She clutched at Tove’s forearm and struggled to release herself, but it was useless.

 

Her eyes were cold and distant, flashing periodically with bits of what Laura could only describe as fire. As before, Laura was consumed with an unmistakable chill. She felt it deep in her bones, a deeper cold than she felt on a regular basis since she’d been revived. It scared her because she knew, on some level, that Tove was the cause.

 

“Never threaten me, little girl.” She said with a surprisingly innocent voice. “I’m not the sort of being you want to anger, especially someone in your condition.” She lowered Laura until she was eyelevel once again. She even brought the young woman within inches of her own face. “I will plunge my fist through your chest and rip that precious coin from within you, and return you to the Netherworld, where you can pay your debt.” A stab of fear shot through Laura at the thought and Tove seemed to notice. A sinister smile twisted her lips. “Ah, you know what awaits you, too, don’t you?” Laura didn’t respond, but Tove let out another soft, unsettling giggle. “I can read a soul as easily as a book, and I see yours, Laura Moon. You believed in nothing, so you are nothing, and nothing awaits you in the end.” Still beaming, Tove dragged her bottom lip through her teeth before she added, “Know your place, Dead Girl.”

 

And with that, Tove dropped Laura. She barely caught herself before she would have crumbled to the floor. Laura coughed and choked on the air she struggled to take in. There was no need, her throat didn’t hurt, but it was reflexive, as was her need to tenderly massage her neck.

 

Laura gradually rose to her feet, the whole while Tove stared down her nose at the corpse. Her eyes gradually drift back to Sweeney.

 

“What’s she talking about?”

 

“Her man.” Sweeney replied as he rolled another cigarette. “Grimnir’s got ‘im on a short leash.”

 

“Hm,” Tove nodded absently. She looked at Laura again. The young woman had shrunk away a little, pulling her jacket back around her body to shield herself from sight. “Come here,”

 

Tove motioned for Laura to follow, and for some reason, she did. Tove grabbed the duct tape once more and positioned herself in front of Laura so that the Dead Girl’s back was to Sweeney. She unfurled a long piece of the silver tape. Laura instinctively opened her shirt and as she assumed would happen, Tove pressed the duct tape over the Y incision marks, adding a second layer of adhesion to keep her skin together. Laura thought it was a little over the top given she planned to be in a living body soon, but she said nothing of it.

 

“Stay here.”

 

The giantess left, slinking off to her bedroom to retrieve a shirt, which she proceeded to toss at the corpse.

 

“It won’t fit, but it’ll cover you.” She replied.

 

Laura mumbled something like a thanks under her breath and quickly shed herself of her torn and ratted clothing. She pulled the simple t-shirt she’d been given on, but as Tove warned, the much smaller woman swam in the off-white fabric. It surprised no one given the size discrepancy.

 

“Ostara’s not going to be happy with this.” Tove said to Sweeney as she approached her kitchen cabinets.

 

“Yeah, well,” He grumbled. “Ain’t got much choice.”

 

“Yes, you do.” She said easily.

 

Sweeney shot her a stare through his brows, a warning glance that surprised Laura, but he didn’t elaborate. Clearly, the two had spoken about something while she wasn’t around.

 

“It’s just a suggestion.” Tove walked back to the living room with a bottle of white powder in her hand. She unstopped it and poured some of it into her open palm. With her gaze on Laura, she blew into the small mound in the center of her hand, spreading it wide over the dead woman.

 

“What the fuck?!” Laura spat hatefully. She swatted at herself and coughed as she was covered in the powder.

 

Tove didn’t immediately reply. Instead, she repeated the action once more before moving toward Sweeney. He barely had a chance to open his mouth in protest before Tove blew a cloud of dust onto him as well.

 

“Damn it, woman.” He growled angrily.

 

“What the fuck did you just throw on me?!” Laura yelled.

 

Tove arched a brow as she placed the glass stopper back into the mouth of the bottle. “Bone dust,” She said, “And a few other things. It will help with the smell.” She looked briefly at the glowering Sweeney. “You both stink.”

 

Sweeney offered a forced, sarcastic smile in response. She winked back.

 

* * *

 

 

Sweeney struggled to catch his breath. The ache in his groin hadn’t subsided in the least. It continued to throb with each heartbeat. He wondered if Laura had done irreparable damage when she held him against the wall by his balls.

 

“What do you think Gods do?” He asked the young woman at his side. For the briefest of moments, he was genuinely shocked she seemed surprised. “They do what they’ve always done. They fuck with us. They fuck with all of us.” He let out a small sigh. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t.”

 

But he could see Laura’s agitation rise. He both envied and pitied her. On the one hand, up until that point, she’d been blissfully ignorant to the shit-ways of the Gods. She’d been able to go about her life thinking nothing happened for a reason, it just happened. Now he pitied her becase she knew the truth.

 

“He needed yer man.” Sweeney told her solemnly. “He needed ‘im in a place where he had nothin’ left in the world, nothin’ to lose because he’d already lost everything.”

 

Laura shook her head. She ran her bottom lip between her teeth in frustration. He watched her carefully. If she lashed out again, he knew he’d have to run because she probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself a second time.

 

“What does Wednesday have to lose?”

 

His brows tugged together as he looked at the still-Dead Wife. “You serious?”

 

“Yeah,” She said as though it should be obvious. “I want to take _everything_ away from him, like he did me.”

 

Sweeney scoffed and shook his head as he leaned it against the wall again. “They’re Gods.” He shot back at her. “You can’t jus’ wage war on ‘em.”

 

“Watch me.” She growled. Laura pointed a stern finger at him. “And I don’t care if that creepy fucking Valkyrie shows up. I’ll kill her, too.”

 

The Irishman’s eyes shot to her and found laser-sharp focus. At first, Laura met his stare without reservation, but as the seconds ticked by, she could have sworn she saw them darken. The longer she stared back, the more certain Laura became that the hazel in his eyes was growing blacker and blacker until they were like two polished obsidian stones.

 

Her stoic exterior wavered under the weight of his gaze.

 

“What is your deal with her, anyway? How the hell did the two of you even meet?”

 

A single brow twitched upward briefly. Sweeney rolled his head lazily to the side. He propped up his leg and rested his forearm against his knee before he spoke.

 

“I’ve been courtin’ death for as long as I can remember.” He said with a solemn, distant voice. He shrugged a single shoulder as he added, “Can’t get much closer to death than a Valkyrie. S’pose it’s the same with ‘er. When I finally die, she’ll be the one to take my soul off.”

 

Laura’s brows furrowed. “She owns your soul?”

 

A small, listless sort of smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he mused over what she said. “S’pose so.”

 

Laura opened her mouth, ready to speak again, when every hint of light in the hall where she and Sweeney sat was choked out of existence.

 

“What the hell?” She asked absently as she rose to her feet. Sweeney stood as well while Laura looked out the windows. “It’s… it’s almost completely dark. Where the hell did the clouds come from?”

 

“Give ya one guess.”

 

Laura spun with her confusion still clearly plastered across her face. “Bullshit.”

 

Sweeney arched a single brow. She didn’t believe him, he could tell. In fact, she looked like she was openly trying to find some other explanation.

 

When she couldn’t, she instead chose to seek it out. Sweeney watched with detached curiosity as Laura charged out of the hall and into the manor. He followed lazily behind her.

 

Shortly after leaving his side, Laura pushed open a pair of doors that led to an outside walkway that overlooked the back garden. She paused at the railing, giving him enough time to reach her. He saw quickly what held her attention. Everyone was downstairs, including her husband. Shadow, Wednesday, three of the New Gods, and Ostara were stood debating, or “talking” to one another while a handful of droogs stood behind them.

 

The man who shimmered and pulsed, who seemed without a true body, was the one speaking when they’d arrived.

 

“My message to you,” He said with a cool ease, “Is don’t fight.”

 

“I don’t have to fight.” Wednesday said confidently. The clouds in the sky began to undulate and flicker with lightning. “I have faith, faith in my followers.”

 

“You don’t have any followers, old man.” Tech Boy taunted. “You’re a fucking relic!”

 

Despite his back being to the pair, Sweeney could practically feel Wednesday’s slimy grin.

 

“Ok, don’t I? Valkyrie!” He bellowed his call, his voice echoing through the clouds above as though it was thunder itself.

 

Eyes instinctively drifted skyward. Another distant, but clear boom could be heard somewhere in the darkness. A moment later, a silvery light, almost luminescent projectile sailed to the ground with vicious intent. It slammed into the well-designed stone porch so hard that Sweeney felt it vibrate through his feet.

 

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. From his perch above, Sweeney saw a shockwave of dust fly away from her and gradually settle. Tove had been the projectile, the silvery thing that flew through the air only to land knelt over on bent knee a few feet from the man who’d summoned her.

 

The warrior woman slowly rose to her full height. She wore no armor, no leather, or glinting mail, but exuded her strength and power despite the denim jeans, boots, and loose-fitting tee.

 

“I offer these deaths to Ostara,” Wednesday said.

 

Tove casually approached the beautiful woman in the spring dress. She removed a silver pipe roughly ten inches long from her back pocket. When she reached Ostara, Tove knelt before her, and dipped her head. Ostara’s smile was serene, but undeniably happy. She touched her delicate hand to her chest and bowed her head respectfully to the woman before her. Tove rose.

 

She positioned herself in front of the New Gods and their small army. Media didn’t seem able to remove the shock and terror from her perfectly selected face.

 

“What deaths?” She asked in a surprisingly meek voice.

 

But no one offered a response. Tove flicked her wrist. The pipe in her hand expanded in an instant, growing exponentially in length. What was once a small, possibly dangerous chunk of metal had suddenly transformed into a six-foot spear with a ten-or-more-inch oblong blade at the end. Sweeney could practically hear the weapon sing from his stance on the balcony.

 

The air was electric, aided by the lightning still sparking through the dark clouds above.

 

“Do it,” Wednesday’s two words, barely uttered, was all the prompting Tove needed.

 

With a ferocious battle cry, the Valkyrie launched herself into the middle of the droogs. She swung her spear with vicious and deadly precision, and sliced through the faceless men with ease. They fought her as best they could, but they made no headway against the mythic warrior.

 

Tove wielded her spear with the dexterity and lethal accuracy of a small blade, all the while cutting down her enemies. Within seconds, the air had gone silent again, the fight brought to an end when she swept her spear tip through the gut of one of the faceless droogs, slicing him in half. His blood and internal bits landed on the grass with a sickening thwack.

 

With her hands and her dangerous weapon dripping with crimson, Tove stepped around the New Gods and joined Wednesday’s side. She slammed the end of her spear into the ground with a deep, reverberating thud, and went motionless.

 

From his perch, Sweeney couldn’t fight his grin. “That’s my girl.” He chuckled to himself.

 

Technical Boy and Media shifted uncomfortably. Their fear was barely hidden, and it was delicious to the Old Gods.

 

Wednesday turned to Shadow, the poor young man too stunned to do much else. “Do you have faith, Shadow?” He asked with his smooth, silky voice, the voice that rewarded him with anything he desired.

 

“What are you?” Was all he could ask.

 

“Do you know me? Do you know what I am?” Wednesday countered. “Do you want to know who I am?”

 

“Tell me,” Shadow replied unsurely.

 

“This is what they call me. I'm called Glad-of-War, Grim, Raider, and Third.” The storm began to intensify around them. “I am One-Eyed. I am also called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am Grimnir, and I am the Hooded One. I am All-Father, Gondlir Wand-Bearer.” More thunder echoed in the sky and blinding lightning sliced through it. “I have as many names as there are winds, as many titles as there are ways to die.” Wednesday’s voice grew in volume, “My ravens are Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory; my wolves are Freki and Geri; my horse is the gallows. I. Am. Odin!”

 

His voice tore through the air and sent shockwaves through those who stood near. It nearly took Shadow from his feet, both in tone and the declaration behind it.

 

“Odin?” He asked, unable to hide his fear.

 

“Woden!” He exclaimed before turning on his heel and pointing a stern finger at their hostess. “And you are Ostara of the Dawn! Show them who you are!”

 

Beaming with an infectious smile, Ostara stepped forward and unleashed a terrifying power. The clouds parted and sun bore down on them. The wind picked up shortly after and, as though flexing her muscles, Ostara truly went to work. A patch of death spread from her, all green vanishing to nothing as she took back the life she’d given. The Queen of the Solstice, Mother of Spring, rescinded the gift she had so freely given.

 

Within seconds, the once sculpted woman was reduced to her true state, with tendrils of golden, sun-colored hair settled around her head. After such a display of power, it was disarming to see her appear so innocent.

 

“What have you done?” Media asked in a whispy, fearful voice.

 

Ostara only smiled wider.

 

“You wanted a war,” The sputter, unnatural voice of Mr. World drew attention to one of the bodies Tove had dissected. His face flickered in and out of existence as he spoke. “God of War. Be glad. It will be the war you die in.”

 

“Tell the believers and the nonbelievers,” Wednesday declared, ignoring Mr. World’s statement entirely. “Tell them that we have taken the spring and if they want it back, they’re going to have to pray for it.” He smiled before glancing to Shadow, “Do you believe?”

 

The poor man hesitated, too consumed with the awe he’d witnessed to reply at first. “I believe.” He muttered.

 

“What do you believe?”

 

“Everything…”

 

“Eh-hem,”

 

The strange voice drew eyes to the upper balcony. Sweeney could tell none of them expected to see Dead Wife or him there.

 

“I’d like a word with my husband, please.” She said.

 

Sweeney rolled his eyes at her before they fell to Tove. The moment he saw her smile form, he couldn’t help but smile, too. He winked at her, to which she blew him a small kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

Every molecule in Tove's body was charged, fueled by the fight, and nowhere near settled. Her skin felt as though it had been electrified. She was desperate for action, but the battle had ebbed. With her decimation of the droogs, the New Gods had fled leaving her fully unsatisfied.

As she stood in the background, anxious and unable to stop pacing while the others spoke, her eyes drifted to the giant looming in the distance. Tove instantly froze. Sweeney was leaning against the wall, lazily smoking as he tended to. He couldn't care less what was happening around him, watching Wednesday do his best to keep Laura from taking Shadow into another room to speak to him.

She knew, the moment her eyes landed on him, what she wanted to do. Her focus intensified as a result.

Tove noticed Sweeney flinch, his brows tugging together briefly, before his gaze began to dance around the room. They landed on her shortly after and she held it. She noticed him narrow his eyes questioningly. Tove's response was to jerk her head to the side, silently beckoning him to follow her. He looked a little curious, but she gave him no time to debate from across the room before she left the group.

Tove was still filled with the need to act as she wandered the halls to Ostara's mansion. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she truly care, she only wanted to separate herself from the rest of the party goers.

At the end of a random hall, Tove found an equally random room. It was decadent and light like the rest of the home with floral wallpaper, white furniture, and freshly cut flowers everywhere. Despite being surrounded by the sweet and calming signs of spring, Tove couldn't stand still.

As Tove began to contemplate a Plan B, the door to the room opened. The ginger giant stepped through with his stare leveled on her. Tove turned to face him completely while Sweeney closed the door behind him.

For a moment they stood in absolute silence. Tove chewed on her bottom lip, running it through her teeth as the atmosphere became as charged as she felt. Sweeney seemed to feel the same shift and removed his denim jacket, tossing it over a nearby chair.

Tove's heart began to race, her fingers tingled. She knew what was coming.

Suddenly, Sweeney charged for her and a fight broke out as a result. He grabbed her by the throat and threw her violently into the nearest wall. He didn't have to hold back, not with her, so he didn't.

Tove's back slammed into the drywall just beside the door, but she recovered quickly and swung. Sweeney barely had time to dodge the swipe. Her knuckles raked across his face, likely smashing more than a few bones if she'd connected fully.

When he closed the distance between them in a single long stride, he gripped the collar of her shirt. Without hesitation, Sweeney threw her once more into the wall and pushed himself against her in the process.

He chuckled darkly, sinisterly, as he pressed his body to hers. Tove struggled against him, but knew that if she actually tried to hurt him, she would. Instead, she let him dominate her for the moment. She was more than willing, in fact. It was her thing, her kink. She loved being overpowered because it so rarely happened.

Holding her hips firmly, Sweeney spun Tove and shoved her chest into the wall. He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair while the other began to unbutton her jeans. He gave her hair a hard yank, jerking her head back at a sharp angle. Tove cried out in response.

"Looks like yer losin' yer touch, Viking." He taunted. "Or maybe ya just like bein' someone's _bitch_."

Before he could truly enjoy his position of dominance, Tove shoved her back against him, dislodging his grasp. Sweeney scowled as he was forced to take a step away and release her. He didn't have a chance to react, however. Tove reached for him and shoved him into the back of the couch a few feet away.

Sweeney had to catch himself against the edge of the sofa or risk toppling over it. Within an instant, Tove was at him again, peeling his shirt from his body and his suspenders off his shoulders. Their actions were frantic, quick and borderline rash, but it stopped neither of them. This was the release Tove needed, the thing that would help alleviate her lingering energy from the slaughter outside.

In one swift move, Sweeney gripped Tove's ass firmly and lifted her into the air with a growl. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he took only two wide steps dropped her unceremoniously onto the nearby chaise nestled beneath a pair of large, wide windows. The leprechaun quickly threaded his wife-beater from his broad torso while Tove slipped out of her shirt.

With his shirt gone and hers as well, Sweeney took Tove's hips once more, spun her onto her stomach and yanked her jeans from her body.

There was no caring when they lay together, no love or kindness. What they had, instead, was primal and animalistic.

Threading the fingers of one hand within her hair, Sweeney pulled causing her to arch her back and cry out loudly. The sound vibrated through him and made him work harder than before. Leaning forward, he made sure the angle was sharp and he could whisper in her ear.

"Bitch," he growled meanly before shoving her head away.

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"Oh no, sweetheart," he replied as he stood upright. Tove glared at him over her shoulder, but stayed on her stomach clutching at the edges of the chaise. Sweeney kicked off his boots as he undid his trousers. She was nearly vibrating with anticipation. "I'm gonna be fuckin' _you._ "

Her grip on the chaise tightened to the point her knuckles turned white. Her core ached and she honestly wanted nothing more at the moment. As he had before, Sweeney grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto her knees.

His massive hand dipped between her thighs and his fingers easily found her core. Tove felt fires race through her as his digits glided easily over her while Sweeney fought a primal growl. He did hear her take in a short breath, however, and felt her thighs twitch just a bit. An evil grin twisted his lips.

"Well would ya look at that?" he mocked as his fingers danced. "Someone's a bit excited, yeah?"

Tove was losing her patience and given she wasn't about to beg for what she wanted, she decided on another tactic.

"Then maybe I should find someone else?" she offered in a deceptively innocent tone. Sweeney's fingers stopped –but remained- as his eyes drifted towards her. "Since you seem incapable."

His eyes narrowed and the glare that saturated them was undeniable. He knew she was teasing him, but he knew she'd do it, too. She'd seek out someone else to satisfy her, just for the spite of it.

"That what ya fuckin' think yer gonna do, hm?" his voice was tight and agitated. "We'll see 'bout that."

He removed his hand. Tove barely registered him nearing her before thrusting himself deep inside. He didn't stop until his hips were flush against her skin, and she felt every inch of him.

A low, throaty groan broke from her lips. Her head spun and her arms gave out just enough her chest fell against the chaise. Tove's breath was stolen from her that moment and she reveled in it. She reveled in being filled completely.

Sweeney growled a few choice words in ancient Gaelic, verbalizing just how unprepared he'd been.

When Tove's head began to clear and the realization that Sweeney hadn't moved sank in, with it came her sharp tongue. She had no issue with berating the Irishman and did so freely.

"Is that the best you've got, leprechaun?" she openly teased. "Pathetic."

Sweeney ground his teeth and stared borderline hatefully at her. He hated that she mocked him. He hated that she could pick at his nerves. But most of all, he hated that he was rendered temporarily dumb by nothing more than being inside her.

Before he could do much of anything, Sweeney adjusted the pair. He looped his arm beneath her thigh, rested it in the crook of his elbow and twisted her in her spot. He barely had to move back to accommodate her, a testament to his true size.

He held her hips up forcing her to plant her feet against the chaise's surface to keep herself up while her shoulders remained down. She stared up at the man glaring down at her with a tight jaw.

As he kept her gaze, Sweeney slowly pulled out. He noticed her brows twitch ever-so-slightly, but she kept her expression primarily blank until he was as far as he dared go. Without warning, he brought her back and slammed into her as hard as he could at such a sharp angle. Whether she meant to or not, Tove let out a cry of pleasure and her eyes drifted shut. Sweeney proceeded to repeat the slow, tedious action again, and again before stopping for just a moment. When he had, Tove forced her heavy eyes open to see him still staring angrily down his nose at her.

"I'm gonna make you eat them fuckin' words." He told her in a dark, twisted voice.

"Promise?" she breathed.

A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his lips. As he had previously, Sweeney thrust sharply into her, eliciting another cry of pleasure.

His muscles flexed and his shoulders tensed as Sweeney began his assault. He used the angle to his advantage and thrust as deeply into her as he could, which wasn't an insubstantial amount.

Sweeney managed to remain standing for only a few moments before he fell onto of her and continued to drive into Tove. He propped himself up on one elbow, held her hips down with his free hand and slammed into her, relishing in the sounds that escaped her lips. Tove clung to him, digging her fingernails into his broad shoulders while he assaulted her, and she loved every bit of it. It had been decades since she and Sweeney had slept together, and at the moment, she couldn't for the life of her remember why she'd waited so long.

"Fuck," he growled as his head dropped into the crook of her neck, "I think I'ma-"

"No," she replied in a voice to match. Before he could fathom it, Sweeney felt his back slam into the floor. She had rolled them off the chaise and was on top of him with her hand at his throat. "Don't you dare," she whimpered as she began to move once more. "Don't you _fucking_ dare."

Sweeney wanted to come through his skin. He didn't know if he could hold off for however long it could take for her to get off. To make matters worse (or better, he wasn't sure) she rocked and thrust her hips with precision and strength. She knew what she was doing and he suffered for it.

Bruises would form beneath his fingers with anyone else, he held so hard, but Tove didn't even notice. Instead, she raked her fingernails down his stomach and did her best to push herself over the edge while Sweeney ground his teeth. His face twisted with concentration. She'd hurt him if he came first, he knew it, so he had to stave off release until-

Tove's head finally fell back as she cried out. He felt her body erupt around him the instant she came, and when she had, he followed shortly after. He growled deep in his throat as he released himself within her, but again, Tove didn't notice. Instead, she felt nothing but the purest euphoria wash through her. She felt her nerves explode, her heart race and her body shake. She felt a true and pure release.

Actions slowed before finally stopping completely. With a heavy sigh, Tove collapsed onto the floor beside the leprechaun. She groaned softly as her eyes drifted shut. She felt so wonderfully heavy that the world could explode that moment and she wouldn't give a shit.

Sex was the best thing after a battle and there was no one better for her than the only man who could handle her at her most ruthlessly demanding.

After a few moments of letting themselves revel in their orgasms and calm, Sweeney shifted. His pants barely hung from one of his ankles and had become irritating. Gripping the tweed fabric, he yanked it off and fished through his pockets for his cigarettes. After finding the last one he had previously rolled, he struck a match and inhaled the deadly smoke gladly. As he did, Tove rose.

Naked as the day she was "born", Tove approached the window. It overlooked a fair portion of the party. A few dozen guests littered the garden below, ignorant to the naked woman standing above. There were so many Jesuses that she couldn't help but scowl. Tove had been in America longer than the hippie, and yet, she had no followers. She had no one who paid tribute to her because no one prayed to the elves. They prayed to Santa.

When she turned, she saw Sweeney still lying on the carpeted floor as naked as she was. He had his head propped up on a bent arm as he smoked. He dragged his eyes along her body as she approached. Tove had to admit, Sweeney had nothing to be ashamed of, and she was more than happy to ogle. Not many people knew how full of muscle he truly was. They could tell from a distance that Mad Sweeney was a big "man", but he was filled with muscle definition as well –a delicious amount of it.

Tove reached his side and stood over him with a foot on either side of his hips. Sweeney smirked up at her as she sat down on his lower stomach, straddling him.

"How long's it been?" Tove asked as she gently plucked his cigarette from his lips.

Sweeney shrugged a single shoulder. "When was the las' president shot?"

Tove grinned as she inhaled the noxious smoke before offering the cigarette back. Fifty years seemed about right.

She and Sweeney were far from a normal wedded couple. They'd been together for more years than Tove could immediately recall, but it wasn't uncommon for them to spend years –sometimes decades- apart. They were both well aware that they were connected in some way, that they were, in many ways, destined to be together, but it didn't dictate their lives.

She was a Valkyrie, a fighter and shield maiden drawn to the souls of soldiers. Buile Shuibhne was an ancient Celtic warrior. He was a leader, a man who'd been in battles before and was destined for another. It was his desire and longing for the "battle to come" that drew her to him. The moment she looked into his hazel eyes, she saw him in his war paint, bathing in the blood of the war that surrounded him. She saw the vicious way he fought, and when he fell.

They may have had their own lives, but it was the promise of what was to come that brought them to each other.

Tove stared down at the man between her legs. He was sarcastic, arrogant, and rude, but there was so much hidden beneath. As she told Laura, Tove could read souls as easily as a book.

She leaned forward, resting her chest against his and kissed him. Sweeney returned the sentiment, cradling her to him as he did.

A loud knock that more resembled a battering ram against a wall brought them back into the moment. Tove glanced up at the door while Sweeney craned his neck awkwardly to do the same.

"Come on!" They herd Laura yell angrily from the other side. "Let's go!"

Sweeney growled and rolled his eyes. Tove genuinely felt the same. She rose to her feet and he followed suit.

The pair dressed ad rejoined the others. Judging by the stares the pair received, it was clear most everyone assumed they knew what happened. Given Tove wasn't silent, it was fairly likely. She didn't care, and neither did Mad Sweeney if his chuckle was anything to go by.

"Come along, children." Wednesday said with an exasperated tone. "Time to leave. Tove, you'll be joining me and the boys."

She nodded and began to leave with Sweeney while Shadow lingered unsurely for a moment.

"Uh, I'm not leaving Shadow." Laura snapped in annoyance.

Tove caught sight of Wednesday's irritation a split second before he wiped it from his face. She could see how badly he wanted to leave her behind, but he wouldn't –not with Shadow standing so close he could hear the conversation. Tove was certain that was Laura's point. She made it impossible for Wednesday to deny her demands.

No one was overjoyed about the prospect of having a rotting body in the car with them for an extended trip, but apparently, that was the plan. Thankfully, Betty was a big girl.

* * *

After nearly a day on the road, the small band of merry misfits had finally made it to Wisconsin, but it was still a while before they would reach the house.

Wednesday was driving, Sweeney was sat beside him, while Shadow, Laura, and Tove were crammed in the back. Tove was annoyed. She couldn't wait to get the hell out of the car. Despite the incredible size of it, her legs were longer than Betty could truly accommodate. Besides, she was tired of sitting beside Laura. The fact that the soul was still forcefully clinging to the dead body bothered the Valkyrie. It wasn't the natural order and the longer she was forced to remain near Laura Moon, the more uncomfortable Tove became.

"Dear old Walt," Wednesday said, drawing Tove's dwindling attention to the moment. "Built a magic kingdom without any magic, when in some parts of Florida there is real magic. Oh, remember the mermaids of Weeki Wachee, Sweeney?"

The ginger leprechaun grinned. "Aye. Been there an' done several o' them."

Laura scowled at him with her jaw hanging slack in confusion, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Tove thought the reaction was a bit ridiculous given everything Laura had been through.

"Who'd have thought they were in to that sort of thing, hm?" Wednesday crooned with a slimy, perverse undertone.

Still smiling and even chuckling a little, Mad Sweeney shifted enough in his seat to meet Laura's eyes. "They're a very passionate species."

Laura grimaced and looked as though she had to force the bile down. It caused Tove to arch a brow and fight the urge to roll her eyes.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Laura suddenly asked Tove in an incredibly judging tone.

"What?" Tove asked with a shrug.

"That he was fucking mermaids."

Tove smirked and let out a small snort of a laugh. "Who said he was alone?"

Laura flinched and stared wide-eyed at Tove while Sweeney and Wednesday both laughed happily from the front seat.

"Seriously?"

Dead Wife didn't bother removing the shock and condescending tone from her voice, but Tove couldn't care less what the woman had to say, or thought about anything. Instead, she let her smile broaden with the memory.

"The sixties were fun." She said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Little bit of smut to make up for it.

 They continued to pass untold miles beneath the wheels of Ol’ Betty. More than once, the driver shifted. It was only fair, apparently. At the moment, it was Shadow behind the wheel, Wednesday snoozing in the passenger’s seat, Dead Wife still pressed against her window, with Tove in the center, and Sweeney rounding out the trio.

 

Most everyone who could, had drifted, but there was no sleeping for Dead Wife. She never slept a wink, which bothered Sweeney greatly. It creeped him out, honestly. She’s dead. Wasn’t that what the dead were meant to do, sleep? Sounded about right, but no. There she was, stinking up the car and casting her cold, milky eyes disapprovingly in his direction more than once.

 

Tove had taken to leaning against him at some point during her nap. He’d managed to place his back to the corner as best he could, and she rested her back to his chest. They were “lying down” as much as possible given their sheer heights, and Dead Wife taking up the adjacent corner.

 

He’s spent time staring out the window briefly, an arm draped over the back of Betty’s seat with the other resting on his knee, but when he looked back around the car, he noticed Laura eying him and Tove again. She’d done it more than once, each time with a blank expression that darkened the moment she was caught. Now was no different. The minute she realized he’d caught her yet again, she glared, slid her sunglasses back up her nose, and looked out the window.

 

He scoffed and shook his head, but let his attention drop to Tove as well. Her head was facing the front of the car, her forehead against his chin, and she was currently nestled beneath his denim jacket. It was a shit blanket, but served its purpose. He didn’t need it with her covering as much of him as she did even though the car was cold as balls. That was for Dead Wife. With the windows up or merely cracked, blasting the AC was the best way to keep her stink down.

 

As he stared down at Tove, Sweeney was filled, once more, with the desire to “touch”. It was a constant companion when they were together. He didn’t know why he had little to no control over himself when she was around, but assumed it was for one simple reason: she let him. What straight man –mythical or otherwise- could say no to a beautiful woman who got off on being touched by them? None.

 

The urge to touch began to consume him to the point Sweeney didn’t care that they were in a car filled with people, and Wednesday was among them. The arm that had been on the back of the seat slowly, gradually, slid down the slick leather and promptly disappeared beneath his jacket. The instant his hand wrapped around her breast, he felt a wave of desire wash through him. He had to genuinely bite back a groan at the feeling of the tender, soft mound in his grip.

 

Her shirt was thin, her bra equally lacking in fabric, which meant he felt everything, including the way her nipple perked. Sweeney was consumed in the feeling, one that was added to when she shifted against him. A soft sigh left her lips and he knew in that moment that she was not only awake, but receptive.

 

A thought, a truly devilish thought, sparked to life in his mind. Sweeney adjusted himself just enough that the hand which had once been resting on his knee clutched her hand beneath the jacket. He didn’t hesitate to wrap it around his growing erection. He heard Tove giggle which made him grin.

 

In ancient Gaelic, he whispered in her ear, “ _Bit o’ magic could make this fun.”_

 

He knew she understood, that she caught his meaning, and he knew she wanted to fool around too. But Tove seemed to have other ideas.

 

She said back in the same tongue, “ _No.”_

 

Before Sweeney had the chance to ask why or make his case for what he knew they’d both enjoy, he felt his zipper give way. That hadn’t been the magic he meant. Mad Sweeney had initially hoped that she’d put some sort of glamor around them so they could proceed to fondle each other like a pair of overheated teenagers with the rest of the car being none-the-wiser.

 

What happened, instead, was Tove being a viciously cruel woman.

 

Tove’s hand wrapped firmly around his dick, no longer safely within his slacks, but safely hidden beneath the jacket. Mad Sweeney fought a groan like he had before, but some of it managed to escape. Laura heard and shot him another glare for a moment until returning her attention back to the window. His jaw clenched tightly as Tove’s hand began to move up and down. Her giggle was like torture.

 

“Witch,” He hissed under his breath.

 

She shifted her face and nuzzled it partially within his beard when she whispered, “Then I’ll stop.”

 

And she did, true to her word. A shock of fear swept through him in an instant and on instinct, he tightened his grip around her wrist, and began to move her hand again. As before, he heard the soft tinkling bell of her laughter in his ears.

 

“ _Fuckin’_ witch,” He said with a sigh as his head fell back, his eyes drifted shut, and he was “forced” to succumb to his fate.

 

Sweeney let himself sink into the sensation. Her grip was perfect as it always was, tense, but not strangling as she endeavored to stroke him to completion.

 

He was left swimming, guided only by touch as the tension rose higher and higher within him. He ground his teeth and tensed his muscles, biting back a multitude of sounds that threatened to escape him. Mad Sweeney was a vocal man, whether grunts or actual words, and being locked in a car with other people meant he had to be silent. The only sound he could muster were the heavy breaths through his nose. He was afraid that too much would escape if he dared open his mouth.

 

The evil witch hadn’t done what he asked. She left everything that was happening open to being seen. It was fun for her, but torture for him. Sweeney didn’t give a shit if Dead Wife or Shadow overheard, or saw, but he didn’t want Wednesday to know. _That_ was what kept him silent as Tove persisted.

 

Harder and harder, faster and faster, she built up his climax with ease. His grip on her breast began to tighten and he knew he was close. She seemed to sense the same and increased her attention. Sweeney was undone.

 

Biting down so hard he swore he’d crack teeth, he came. For seconds, he couldn’t even breathe, so focused on remaining silent that he did nothing, until his body started to relax. When it did, he let loose a long breath and slumped in his chair.

 

She stroked him for only a moment longer before she let go entirely. He didn’t care about anything at that moment, totally and completely at ease.

 

“I fuckin’ hate ye.” He mumbled.

 

“I know,” She replied, sounding anything but offended by his clearly insincere remark.

 

* * *

 

 

When they finally arrived at the house, Tove all but sprang from the back of the car. She needed to stretch and groaned when her back popped a bit as she did. Sweeney was slower to rise, though she knew why and cast him a cheeky glance when he finally did emerge. He met her stared head-on, entirely serious and blank. Still keeping her eye, he zipped up his slacks again which caused a wide smile to break out across her lips.

 

She truly did adore that asshole sometimes.

 

Sweeney took a seat on the hood of O’l Betty, soon joined by Laura. Shadow was told by Wednesday to break open a lock, while Tove paced. Her long legs carried her the short distance easily. She didn’t like being cooped up for extended periods of time, or being inactive in general. She wasn’t made for it. She was made for fighting.

 

The others argued briefly over Shadow’s inability to make the gate bend to his will, though what he was expected to do with a flathead screwdriver, Tove didn’t know. Shortly after Laura offered her assistance, however, the gates parted. On the other side stood Mr. Nancy, draped in fancifully bright fabric. Few would be able to pull off a blue plaid suit of such a bright shade, accented by brilliant yellow, but Mr. Nancy wasn’t most people.

 

“Mad Sweeney!” He chimed, lips parted in a smile. He sauntered forward. “Is that you? Or is that Wednesday’s bullshit I smell?” He patted Shadow’s shoulder in passing.

 

“Keen nose, Mr. Fancy-Pants, but that ain’t Irish Sexy yer smellin’. That’s Road-Kill Rhonda over here.”

 

Laura leaned forward, a cigarette still burning between her fingers, and smiled.

 

“Heh,” He grinned before his dark eyes fell to the Valkyrie. “Tove, Tove, Tove,” He cooed as he glided toward her. He slipped his hat from his head, swept it behind his back fluidly, and offered her his hand. “Been a long time, Shield Maiden.”

 

“Anansi,” She greeted him kindly, placing her hand in his. Mr. Nancy raised it to his lips and placed a small kiss across the back of her knuckles. As he stood again, another swift motion saw his hat seated on his head once more. “Looking fine as always.”

 

“Ain’t not better weaver than me, baby.” He said with a smile and a wink.

 

Tove smiled, too. She always like Anansi. He was a passionate man, driven, loyal, and deceptively smart. Not many knew his story, which meant they underestimated him greatly. His intelligence and knowledge rivaled Odin’s, and she knew it.

 

“Nancy!” Wednesday declared as he slammed his trunk shut. He emerged from behind Betty with his coat, drawing Anansi’s attention away from the others.

 

The two spoke briefly about who had come to play. Not many, to be sure. What surprised Tove the most was that she wasn’t surprised. Grimnir was a prick. Not many wanted to join his side, least of all against the New Gods.

 

Soon, they set off toward the house in a line. Up the stone steps they wove, through the gardens and trees.

 

They weren’t far into their journey before Tove heard Sweeney and Shadow tossing barbs at one another. They’d clearly met before. Tove admired the way Shadow was unimpressed by Mad Sweeney’s jabbing remarks, and how easily he shot his own back at the leprechaun. She could always enjoy a fight, even a verbal one.

 

As the continued on, led by Mr. Nancy, Tove felt someone close in behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Shadow and felt compelled to speak to him. She stood just enough to the side that she could slow her pace and soon stand close to his side. He noticed, but was apprehensive to meet her gaze. She expected as much.

 

“Tove,” She said, offering her hand to him.

 

“Shadow Moon,” He answered a bit reluctantly before he shook it.

 

“I gathered.” She smiled. “You seem a little… disoriented.”

 

“Yeah,” he said with a weak laugh. “This is… it’s kind of crazy.”

 

“I suppose.” She nodded.

 

“I mean,” He inched closer to her while they climbed. “You’re a God, right?”

 

Poor thing. Tove genuinely wanted to hug him. He was like a lost little puppy, unable to understand the world around him. It wasn’t his fault. It simply meant that he was a rational man. Rational people had trouble believing in things that seemed otherworldly, even if there was evidence staring them in the face.

 

“I’m a Valkyrie.” She told him.

 

“Valkyrie…” He nodded. “Right. This is just… it’s a lot to take.”

 

“Well, perhaps you should think of it like this.” She said sweetly. He glanced to her. “All stories had to come from somewhere. Once you believe that anything is possible, Shadow Moon, _everything_ is possible.”

 

He tried to nod, but she could tell he still had trouble. All she could do was offer him a kind glance and a gentle smile.

 

When they reached the interior of the massive building, and the coins were being handed out, Tove remained in the distance. She didn’t assume there was one for her. Why would there be? She wasn’t a God. She was a servant, a minion to someone bigger. This meeting wasn’t for her, and she had no intentions of joining it.

 

Clearly, she was alone in this realization. Mad Sweeney was rather angry that there wasn’t a coin with his name on it.

 

Bad luck.

 

At some point, Tove had taken to lying on a glass case that housed a number of bits and bobs. She hummed a tune to herself to pass the time while the others meandered elsewhere.

 

“Hey,” Laura chimed loudly, drawing attention to her. “I want a fortune. Everybody coming to your boss’s thing already have coins. Give me one.”

 

“No,” The Djinn snapped. “And I told the two of you to get the fuck out of here, so-“

 

“Wait,” Salim-Not-Salim interjected quickly, clutching at the Djinn’s arm. “Please, I have seen what she is capable of. You don’t want to make her angry.”

 

“Actually, you haven’t seen even a little bit.” Laura replied.

 

“Oh, jus’ give the fuckin’ corpse a coin.” Sweeney snapped hatefully. He spoke like a man that had listened to Dead Wife far too many time, and simply didn’t want to listen anymore.

 

The Djinn reluctantly handed over a coin and a moment later, the space filled with the music of the Fortune Teller’s booth. When it chimed, Laura reached for her card and paused.

 

“It’s broken.” She said.

 

“You have a broken fortune?” Salim asked.

 

“It’s blank.” She replied, flashing the card in their direction.

 

“That’s because the dead have no fortune.” Tove said. Laura looked at her. “To have a fortune, one must first have a future. Clearly,” she smirked, “You don’t have one of those, either.”

 

Laura glared, which widened Tove’s smile. She could tell the corpse wanted to say something, but didn’t. It was possible, and Tove thought so, that she put a very real fear in the corpse.

 

“I’ll give ya a fortune.” Mad Sweeney told her. “In the very near future, you give the leprechaun back his fuckin’ coin then rot.”

 

Again, Laura glared hatefully, but he didn’t seem bothered in the least.

 

“Wanna try your luck?” She openly taunted him.

 

“All my luck is yours, Dead Wife. No need to break the fuckin’ machine.” he grumbled. "I jus' want my fuckin' coin back."

 

“That will happen soon enough, darling.” Tove told him as she returned to her aimless thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours had passed before the entire congregation of supernatural beings finally retired to the diner. Sweeney needed a drink. He a _lways_ needed a drink, and now it was simply a more desperate one.

 

After pouring himself a hefty glass, he spun in his seat to look around. A group, small compared to what they’d need, milled around eating bad food and talking. His gaze drifted over them all. Sometimes, he wished the war would hurry up so he could just die and be rid of Wednesday. Other times, the fear resurfaced and he felt as though his feet would carry him away.

 

As he looked around, he saw Tove speaking to Mama-Ji. It didn’t surprise him. Those types tended to flock together -warrior types.

 

He turned to his left and saw Shadow speaking to Laura. As she had a thousand times before, Dead Wife was doing her best to convince Shadow to leave with her. It was fruitless as far as Sweeney was concerned. Shadow would never leave, not now. Wednesday had shown him too many wonders, and the man was only human.

 

As Shadow left her, summoned by Wednesday, Sweeney stood and approached Laura. She stared daggers at the pair, but her stares meant nothing.

 

“He’s Wednesday’s man, now.” He said as he fell into a seat nearby.

 

“No,” She shook her head. “He’s still my puppy.”

 

“Sure,” He scoffed, letting his eye drift in the same direction. “Hurts when someone takes what’s yers, doesn’t it?”

 

Laura didn’t speak, and he didn’t expect her to. Sometimes, increasingly, in fact, Sweeney considered Tove’s offer. He need only ask, and he knew it. In a heartbeat, she’d plunge that delicate fist of hers, the fist capable of breaking stone, through Laura Moon’s chest, and snatch his coin from inside. She’d present it to him in the center of her palm, bloodied and covered with goop, and he’d take it. He’d feel the rush of his luck returning and know that everything was right again, while Laura’s body crumbled like a puppet with its strings cut. He only had to ask.

 

Sweeney looked at the Dead Wife again. The urge was strong, so goddamned strong he could nearly taste it. The words lingered at the tip of his tongue. He could be done with this whole thing, done with it in an instant.

 

He felt his tongue begin to form the words as his gaze drifted back to the Valkyrie. She was standing, still, with Mama-Ji.

 

His mouth opened, the tip of his tongue curling beneath the roof of his mouth.

 

A shot suddenly tore through the window, and when he called for Tove, it wasn’t for what he’d initially wanted.

 

“Tove!” He yelled loudly.

 

She spun the instant another shot ripped through the face of a nearby patron. Then another in quick succession. It struck her and took her violently to the ground. Tove landed in a heap with her back to him. His fear was instant and all-consuming. It helped drop his to the floor and gave him the strength to move under the weight of his shock.

 

“No, no, no, no, no.” He mumbled quickly as he crawled across the floor on his hands and feet, scuttling to get close to her.

 

He was at her side in seconds and relieved to see her moving. When he helped Tove roll onto her back, he saw a slice through her cheek. It was a graze, nothing more.

 

“Fuck,” He said on a sigh. Instantly, he calmed as much as he possibly could, genuinely relieved she hadn't died.

 

But they weren’t out of the woods. Bullets still roared through the diner. Most everyone ducked for cover, and he and Tove were no different.

 

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the shooting stopped.

 

People were reluctant to stand, but gradually did. Sweeney helped Tove to her feet. Blood trailed down her cheek, though she didn’t seem to notice when her gaze landed on a heart breaking sight.

 

Zorya Vechernyaya, the Evening Star, was dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I think I've figured out how to incorporate Tove in the rest of the season. Enjoy!

Time ticked on. At some point, the sky began to tint with pale blues and purples, signifying the coming day. Chernobog hadn’t settled. He might not have been the Great Black Beast that Disney made him out to be in _Fantasia_ , but he was no less terrifying. It was a strange sort of power he held, an overwhelming foreboding that was too big to classify. He was a powerful Old God, even at his age.

 

Dead Wife hadn’t stopped pacing, either. She kept mumbling about finding Shadow – _we have to find Shadow_ , she would repeat over and over. Salim-Not Salim didn’t speak while she grumbled. He kept his head primarily down, but would glance periodically in her direction. The Djinn might have been hidden behind his sunglasses, but his expression remained annoyed. It hadn’t changed since he’d met her, honestly.

 

From left to right, left to right she would walk across the front of the diner with her eyes focused through the window. Something the others couldn’t see held her attention.

 

Wednesday was seated in a booth listening to Chernobog rant, switching between an old Slovak dialect and English. He cursed whoever killed his sister, cursed the humans who’d forgotten about them, and cursed Wednesday for getting her involved. Wednesday remained silent the whole time. Anansi did the same, lingering in the background with eyes keen and ears open.

 

Mama-Ji was in the back with a few others fulfilling the orders of those who could and wanted to eat. Mad Sweeney was still drinking and Tove was sitting on the back of the booth not far from the leprechaun. She was leaning forward staring through the wide window much like Laura, but her vision didn’t linger on one thing in particular. She was too deep in thought, too busy thinking, and too angry about the gash in her cheek.

 

By the time the sun had risen, Chernobog had lifted his sister into his arms and took her outside to his truck. Nancy and Wednesday followed him. Mama-Ji joined as well once she’d dropped off the breakfasts that had been ordered.

 

They spoke outside briefly while storm clouds gathered in the sky. Dead Wife banging her fists into the glass brought Tove back to the moment. Her icy-blue gaze drifted to the animated corpse.

 

“What’s the plan?” She yelled through the pane. Wednesday waved his hand calmingly at her, silently telling her to be patient.

 

Laura grumbled loudly once more as she returned to the others. “This is bullshit.” She snapped. “Shadow’s been taken.”

 

“Let them lament.” Sweeney replied as he chewed on his pancakes. “There might not be any comin’ back for tha’ one.”

 

“Yeah, no shit.” Laura said flippantly. “She’s dead.”

 

“You should stop speaking.” Tove said in a subdued voice.

 

“Look,” Dead Wife didn’t heed the obvious warning in the Valkyrie’s tone. “I’m sorry your friend got shot, but we have more important shit to deal with. She was old as dirt anyway.”

 

The eyes of a handful of mythical beings drifted toward the towering young woman. Tove slid easily off the back of the booth, her feet landing on the diner’s tile floor without a misstep or dip in height. With her gaze fixed firmly on the corpse, Tove glided across the room until she stood just before her.

 

“You should stop talking.” She repeated. “Before I lose my patience.”

 

Laura, either too stupid or too proud to listen, stared up at the much more intimidating creature with defiance. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one leg, popping out her hip unnecessarily when she did.

 

“We need to find Shadow.” She said for the hundredth time or more. “I don’t give a shit about some old, haggard-“

 

Her words suddenly stopped, caught in her throat while her mouth hung open. Mad Sweeney may have been the closest, but he couldn’t see what had suddenly prompted Laura’s silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Tove saw him lean back to watch, but her focus was primarily on the body.

 

The flat of her hand was pressed against the center of Laura’s chest. She hadn’t punctured the corpse, hadn’t struck her or harmed her in any real, noticeable way, but there was an undeniable look of fear and pain painted across Dead Wife’s features.

 

As Tove withdrew her hand, a dull grey, pulsing mass began to emerge from the center of Laura’s chest.

 

“Do you feel that?”

 

Tove’s words may have been little more than whispered, but they slithered through the air to meet the ears of all those who surrounded her. Laura’s eyes, so wide and so milky with death, were saturated in terror. She struggled to gather a single, unneeded breath, but Tove didn’t relent.

 

“Does it hurt?” She asked in the same delicate tone. “Look at it.”

 

Somehow, Laura managed to drop her gaze and see the mass that Tove had taken from her, the mass that hovered just outside her body. Whatever it was looked sickly and wrong –anemic. Tove hadn’t pulled it out completely. Instead, it lingered where it was, half in and half out, eliciting the most pain from Dead Wife.

 

“This pathetic little thing is your soul.” She said. Her tone was nothing but condescending. “Not much to look at, is it? That coin might bind it to your shell, but make no mistake,” Tove leaned forward just a bit, ensuring that she had Laura’s full attention. “I can still rip it out of you if you piss me off.”

 

Laura didn’t respond. It was possible she couldn’t and Tove, still angered by the night’s events and Dead Wife’s previous comments, decided to continue to taunt the woman. Still holding firm to the darkened soul, Tove squeezed her hand and twisted. Laura responded instantly.

 

She continued to taunt her, to inflict whatever pain she could given the shell couldn’t feel anything. Tove was content to even tear it from Laura, until, she heard her name.

 

“Tove,”

 

It was Sweeney’s voice, calm and disappointed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him looking at her blankly, his cheek distended with food. Tove clenched her jaw. She looked back at Laura, arched a brow, then shoved her palm forward. Laura took in a long, loud breath and stumbled back under the force. She coughed and clutched as her still heart.

 

After a little while, she looked up at the Valkyrie who towered over her by a foot. Finally, Tove saw the appropriate level of fear.

 

Mama-Ji suddenly entered the diner and gave the Djinn his instructions. When it came to light that he would be the one retrieving Gungnir, both Sweeney and Tove were angry.

 

“Gungnir?” Laura asked as she pointedly avoided Tove’s eye.

 

“His fuckin’ spear.” Sweeney growled. He threw his napkin down angrily and rose to his feet. The giant charged through the doors to the diner, his exit narrated by the small, insubstantial bell above the door. Tove followed and behind her she sensed Laura. “Yer sendin’ fiery-eyes and the fuckin’ fairy for the spear?”

 

“What are you doing about Shadow?” Laura demanded almost the same instant. She was like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over. Perhaps she needed a sharp punch so the record could continue on.

 

“He’ll be fine.” Wednesday never skipped a beat or sounded even remotely worried. “Great battles require great preparations.” He slid his hat onto his head then sat in the driver’s seat of his car.

 

“And sacrifice to you.” Nancy said smoothly.

 

Laura, apparently fuming, confronted Wednesday about his lack of interest in saving Shadow’s life. The old man remained as calm and casual as he always was, deflecting her questions and accusations with a practiced ease.

 

It became clear a moment later that Mr. Nancy would be joining Wednesday while Sweeney and Tove were left without an apparent job. It remained that way briefly.

 

“Tove, darling,” Wednesday said, drawing her attention. “Gather your sisters, as many as you can.”

 

“Four,” She said in a somber tone.

 

“What?” Wednesday asked, his face twisted with mild confusion and apathy. He clearly wasn’t paying much attention.

 

“There are only five of us left.” It pained her to say it, but it was true. There used to be more than a dozen –twenty-eight in fact- but now there was only five.

 

“Right, fine.” He nodded.

 

And with a few more angry words from Sweeney and a scowl from Laura, Wednesday drove off. Anansi shouted a parting jab as he hung out of the passenger-side window at the leprechaun. They turned onto the main road shortly after.

 

“Fuck!” Sweeney bellowed as he kicked the ground. He sent a small bit of gravel flying. He spun to face her. “This is fuckin’ horseshit.”

 

Tove nodded. She agreed wholeheartedly “At least you have a choice.”

 

“Not much o’ one.”

 

“More than me.” She replied. Tove dropped her arms and reached into the pocket of her leather jacket to remove a single pair of keys on a simple ring.

 

Sweeney’s anger subsided just a bit with her declaration because he knew she was right. He was in league with the God because of a bargain he’d made. Tove and her sisters on the other hand had no choice. There were no Valkyrie without Odin. Odin was their leader, their king. She had to obey his commands.

 

Tove zipped up her jacket and approached a large, angry-looking Harley Davidson motorcycle that was parked only a few yards away. She grabbed the helmet off the handlebars, a black helmet with the faint wisp of wings painted on either side. Grasping it in her hand, she gave the leprechaun her attention. He gradually approached her with his hands in his pockets and agitation evident.

 

She met him in stride until they were close enough. Sweeney met her gaze heavily. He was as ‘in the mood’ for the bullshit surrounding them as she was. With a sigh, his eyes fell shut and his head dipped forward. His forehead touched hers, and she soon mirrored his expression. They remained that way for a breath or two before Tove turned her head a bit to the side, kissed him softly, and stepped away.

 

The motorcycle was large, a beast on two wheels, yet still seemed so small when she threw her leg over the seat.

 

“Be careful.” She told him before sliding her helmet on.

 

Sweeney only nodded. Tove slid the key in, gave it a turn, then lifted the bike. She kicked it on. The engine roared to life and, not a moment later, she sped off onto the main road, driving in the opposite direction Wednesday and Anansi had traveled.

 

* * *

 

 

Mad Sweeney and Laura traveled down the road at a ridiculous speed. He hated the car. As usual, Sweeney was too long to fit comfortably behind the wheel no matter how far he pushed the seat back.

 

“I mean,” Laura continued to spit her vitriol, “Whoever had a use for leprechauns?” Sweeney clenched his jaw tightly. “What do you do? You take, and take, and take, and you give _nothing_ back. You are monsters under the bed, fucking destroying lives.”

 

He’d had enough. “Oh, pot, kettle, black.” He snapped back at her. “And God didn’t fuck up your life. You didn’t that all on yer own.”

 

“It was my life to fuck up!”

 

“Indeed t’was.” He shot back. “And you fucked tha _shit_ outta it, didn’t ya? Fucked up yer husband’s life as well. Got ‘im sent to prison, and then, while he’s servin’ his penance, for you, you were suckin’ all over his bes’ friend’s knob.”

 

“I don’t know what syphilitic time period spawned leprechauns, but in _my_ world, infidelity doesn’t warrant a death sentence.”

 

Sweeney’s jaw was set in a tight line. He was furious for a number of reasons, the majority of which was the woman sitting beside him in the stolen car.

 

“In my time, it was the greatest sin, to betray you sworn love.” He said. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s the mark of a-“

 

“Cow,” Laura interrupted.

 

Sweeney barely reacted in time, swerving around a large, black, unmovable beast that had decided the middle of the road was the best place for it to stop. Sweeney’s heart raced, his body full of adrenaline, and a nervous smile on his lips.

 

 _A bit of good luck,_ he thought to himself. He thought prematurely, apparently.

 

The sound and sudden jerk of a blown tire was immediate. Sweeney clenched his jaw once more and scowled as he guided the vehicle to the shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” Laura hissed.

 

She took the words right out of his mouth. As a result, Sweeney took to assaulting his steering wheel. He punched it, rammed the heel of his palm against it repeatedly until he felt even the slightest bit better.

 

“Outta the _fuckin’_ car.” He growled.

 

Sweeney threw the door open after popping the trunk. Laura was slower to exit, but she did, too.

 

Each action was stilted and jerky. He was frustrated, and furiously angry. Sweeney just wanted the whole thing to be done. When would the fucking skies turn red? When would he hear the sound of the trumpets signaling the battle’s beginning?

 

Why was he stuck chauffeuring the fucking corpse?

 

“There’s no jack.” He said as he dropped the spare to the ground.

 

“Of course there isn’t.” Laura mumbled.

 

With the tire iron in hand, he pushed the spare toward the front. Laura positioned herself there as well. Sweeney knelt down.

 

“Right then, lift.” His voice dripped with derision.

 

She glared hatefully, but squatted down and lifted the car. It groaned its protest, but obeyed her commands.

 

Sweeney quickly began to undo each of the lug nuts. As he did, he thought back to the conversation they’d been having only minutes ago.

 

“You really feel nothin’ fer cheatin’ on yer man?” He asked as he jerked one nut loose.

 

In a slightly strained voice, Laura replied. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

 

“No? Cos yer the one spoutin’ off sayin’ we’re the one fuckin’ up yer life, but we both know that ain’t true. _Now_ , all the sudden, yer all ‘bout getting’ yer man back when you couldn’t’ve been bothered just a few weeks ago.”

 

“Fuck you.” She muttered. Sweeney set the third out of six lug nuts down and went to work on the fourth. “Are you seriously telling me that, in however many hundreds of years you and Tove have been married, you never cheated on her?”

 

He scoffed. “Not like you did.”

 

“The fuck’s that mean?” She snapped. “That’s not even a real answer.”

 

Angry, Sweeney turned his attention on her, his arm resting on his knee as he stared up at the tiny woman holding a car.

 

“Loyalty means somethin’ different to things like us. You,” He pointed at her with the tire iron, “Spread yer legs in the worst possible place. Not only did ya fuck up yer life and drag yer man down wit ya,” He returned to unscrewing the lug nuts, “But, ya fucked his mate’s life, and the bloke’s wifey, too. Like a fuckin’ atom bomb, you are.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her snarl and bite back something before she spoke again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Course I’ve been inside other women, and she’s had other men inside her.” He gave Laura his attention again. With her brow furrowed in a scowl, she met his gaze. “Hell, sometimes we’d fuck ‘em together, but difference is, we know we ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

 

“That makes no sense.” Laura said loudly. “You can’t sit there and play some kind of saint when you’re just as bad as me.”

 

“Eh-eh,” He shook his head sharply. “Cos you never loved yer man.” Her expression slowly began to drop. “Not the way he loved you, at least. Sex is jus’ sex, but what _you_ did was meant to hurt. That was vengeance right there. Can’t do somethin’ like that to a person you actually care ‘bout.”

 

She scoffed and he noticed her shake her head. “So, what, you and Tove are different because you’re _soul mates_?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“I already told ya,” Sweeney finally managed to get the last lug nut off and removed the flat tire when he had. “She marked tha’ the moment we met.”

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the back roads of America, Tove sped toward New York. She traveled faster than humans could register, gliding between vehicles and over asphalt as though she was flying. In some ways, perhaps she was.

 

She could vaguely sense her sisters, that was how she knew so few were left. It was a small, slightly nagging feeling that she could usually ignore, but now put as much focus into as she could.

 

Guilt was a powerful emotion and it consumed her as she charged toward her sisters, calling them to arms for a war that would likely kill them all.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to regret uploading this quickly, but the story's moving along well, and I love hearing that you guys are enjoying it. So, here's another. :)

_Concord, Virginia_

_1774_

 

The air was electric. It was charged, like the air just before a massive storm. It pulsed with a life of its own, vibrated and even tasted different.

 

It was the taste that brought a smile to her lips as she walked down the darkened streets, past the drunks and vagabonds that littered the old city. It was the taste of blood –the taste of a fight on the horizon. It might have been the bits of the Revolutionary War that were trickling through Virginia, but she doubted it. This was something else.

 

Her gown fluttered over the muddy roads while it supped up the dirty water. It would stain the lace and fabric, but it didn’t matter. She had to follow it, follow the taste of the fight to wherever it would manifest.

 

* * *

 

 

The rich, brown bottle held an equally rich liquid. The whiskey was different than that of home –sweeter. It was something the Americans did, some ingredient they used that didn’t grow within the rolling green hills of Ireland. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, but he would drink it regardless.

 

The burn trickled down his throat where it landed in his belly. Warmth spread from it that touched his cold limbs. It was false, but the Mad King relished it regardless.

 

As he sat at his table, hidden in the shadow just to the left of the roaring fire, the door to the small pub opened, and something more than a vision walked through. A woman, every bit as tall as the men she passed, glided in. Her feet made no sound as she crossed the bowed wooden floor, and he’d have heard if they did. The entire pub had gone deathly silent.

 

She was without description, and belonged miles away from the situation in which she found herself. She wore a gown made from the finest silk, so soft that he could only assume it felt like a cloud. The pale blue fabric was embroidered with a multitude of equally pale blue flowers, only visible when the light caught the dress at the right angle.

 

The collar of it was square and low which displayed just a hint of her breasts, the globes presented to the room by the restrictions of the corset that cut her figure tightly. Her skin was milky white, her neck long and slender like a swan’s, and her hair blacker than a raven’s wing. But it was the eyes that he found most distracting. They were bluer than blue, like the color of a pale sapphire held up to the sun.

 

His jaw went a little lax while he watched her move. There was grace to her steps, a fluidity that he didn’t see in most anyone because they were pushed down, beaten by the New World. She wasn’t. Her back was still straight and her shoulders strong. She looked like she could bear the brunt of whatever was thrown at her.

 

The stranger approached the man behind the bar and said something the man in the corner couldn’t hear, but Sweeney knew it was delicate like the rest of her. The bartender nodded and reached for a bottle of something. He poured it into a cloudy glass and offered it to her.

 

She threw back the alcohol with ease, swallowing half of it without the slightest hint of a grimace. Sweeney couldn’t help but arch a curious brow at the sight. Few women, and _none_ that looked so posh, should have been able to drink what could (later in time) be compared to gasoline so effortlessly.

 

Minutes ticked by and the atmosphere in the pub took a sharp turn. His gaze danced around the multiple dirty faces, across the men that lived hard lives. They were the sort of men without decorum, without restraint, and without remorse. They were the sort of men who, because the world had been so cruel to them, were cruel in return.

 

And they were no longer content to linger in the background staring at the woman at the bar.

 

He noticed a table’s worth of them rise, four men who were caked in more mud and filth than they had clean skin. In truth, none of them looked as though they’d ever touched water, like the rain itself would divert path just to avoid them.

 

They stalked toward her. Either unwilling or unable to sit back, Sweeney rose to his feet and, wrapping his fingers tightly around the neck of his whiskey bottle, he slinked toward her, too.

 

The closer he drew, the more he heard of their conversation.

 

“Yer gonna be comin’ with us.” One of them grumbled.

 

She couldn’t have been less bothered as she replied, “That isn’t going to happen.”

 

Her voice was as enticing as the rest of her and it forced a shiver to trickle down his spine. He continued to approach, light on his feet and surprisingly invisible given his size.

 

The banter continued back and forth, the men attempting to get her outside and away from the lights of the pub, and her rebutting their advances with a cool detachment. Finally, her attitude seemed to have struck one chord too many with one of the men, who promptly reached out and snatched her arm. She reacted instantly.

 

The Mad King never saw it happen, but heard it, and witnessed the aftermath. Small shards and chunks of glass exploded from beneath the hand she had against the side of the assailant’s head. Blood poured from a dozen small gashes and he stumbled. She’d hit him in the face with the glass she’d once been drinking from.

 

Silence. It was deafening and so thick that it weighed on his shoulders, but it was the calm before the storm.

 

In a blink, the pub erupted into an all-out war. Everyone sprang into action, swinging fists and lobbing chairs and tables at one another.

 

Every muscle in his body tingled and without the slightest hesitation, Sweeney let loose a furious roar, and leapt into the fray.

 

Swinging fists smashed into weak jaws. Blood sputtered from cuts and broken noses. Men groaned in pain, while some shouted like a mad man. He was one of them.

 

As bloodlust pulsed through his body and brought with it the familiar, he would periodically catch glimpses of blue. A wisp here, a flash there. It wove through the chaos, right in the middle of it all.

 

His balled fist slammed into a fat man’s side. Layers of squish did nothing to keep Sweeney's knuckles from making sharp contact with the ribs beneath. They couldn’t withstand the force and cracked like dried twigs. He spun in the spot and saw her, fully for the first time since the fight had begun.

 

Milliseconds lasted minutes and in those minutes, he watched as her fist sailed through the air. Her mouth was opened wide as she unleashed a warrior’s cry. Even in profile, Sweeney could tell her expression was fierce.

 

Her fist finally made contact with the man who was too slow and too lumbering to hit her first. He saw the drunk’s nose collapse beneath her delicate knuckles, and saw the ripple of the hit wobble across his face.

 

Real time returned as the would-be attacker fell away, landing in a heap feet from her. He’d somehow taken another man with him to the increasingly dirty floor. She twisted in place and Sweeney saw her fiery eyes, blazing with the battle that surrounded them. They met his and something he couldn’t identify surged through his very being. It touched something deep inside, something that had been dormant for decades. No, not decades –centuries.

 

The pub disappeared around them. Sweeney saw only her blazing eyes, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily, the tendril of dark hair that had come loose from the rest dance across her face, and that smile. Full lips quirked at the corner, twisting into a wicked smirk.

 

And it was all for him.

 

His feet took him closer, helping close the distance between them, and hers did the same. Their eyes remained locked, but the fight still raged. When someone ventured too close, she threw her elbow back where it connected with the side of their head with a disturbing crack. A prickle of excitement trickled down his spine.

 

As they neared one another, someone stumbled into Sweeney's left shoulder. He reacted instantly, dragging his gaze from her only briefly enough to grab the guy’s shirt and smash his forehead into the nose of the other. When he looked to her again, he was instantly relieved. Those few seconds were enough to worry him, as though whatever spell held them both would vanish in the meantime.

 

With less than twenty feet between them, her pace increased. His did the same, prompted by her quick walk. Almost the same instant, she ran. He did the same. Not two strides later, she leapt at him, and he didn’t hesitate to catch her. She threaded her fingers through his long hair and immediately attacked his lips.

 

Mad Sweeney groaned from deep within his throat as he kissed her. His hands, still firmly grasping her ass, pulled her even closer. The heat between her thighs burned him through the thin fabric of his clothing and forced whatever blood that hadn’t made it to his groin to surge to the spot. He was fully rigid in seconds.

 

She suddenly fisted his hair and yanked his head back. She had bit down on his bottom lip, dragging it between her teeth as she forced his head away from hers. He growled at the sharp ache of it, but it made his body tingle even more.

 

She stared down at him, eyes still blazing, bee-stung lips parted as she panted.

 

“Outside,” She said breathlessly. “Now.”

 

He immediately complied, somehow making his way outside while still holding her body to his. No sooner than they were, he shoved her against the exterior wall. She let out a soft gasp, and then kissed him again.

 

They pawed at one another, their hands exploring and tugging bits of fabric out of the way. He’d set her on something, something that didn’t even enter his mind, but was grateful for because he had free reign.

 

Gasping breaths, stifled moans, tearing fabric; all sounds that met his ears until, without warning, people were shouting.

 

Angry voices screaming very specific words brought him almost violently back to reality. Soldiers, he couldn’t tell how many, were storming the pub to try and regain the peace that the woman currently wrapped around his body had instigated.

 

“Bollocks,” He growled through a tight jaw. He knew they couldn’t remain, else they be arrested, too. If anyone was sober enough inside, the bartender likely, he and his warrior would be easy to find.

 

She suddenly bit into his neck, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. He looked down at her.

 

She raised a delicate brow. “We’re not finished.”

 

He grinned, a groan vibrating in his throat. He was glad to hear it.

 

As the ruckus within the pub grew louder and closer, the pair knew they had to leave quickly. He stepped back which allowed her to hop off the thing she’d been sitting on. It caught his attention and he couldn’t fight the chuckle.

 

It was a large barrel of hard cider with a twin inches away. Hard cider might have tasted like piss, but far be it for him to pass up a chance.

 

Still grinning, he stepped forward and heaved the roughly forty gallon cask onto his broad shoulder. He glanced to her and saw that she was smiling back. Together, they fled, racing into the darkness with their loot in hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning woke him.

 

It wasn’t bright. Instead, it was more like the early morning sun doing its best to try and pierce a thick veil of clouds, but it was morning nonetheless.

 

His head ached and his body was sore, and Sweeney had no idea where he was. Through bleary eyes, he noticed that he was naked, lying in cold, damp sand. Behind him was a slowly running river, the sound of which helped sooth his head a bit.

 

A few feet to his right were the remnants of a fire that was still smoldering, but nearly burnt out. Not far from that was a broken, busted up barrel, some of which was the smoldering bits in the pit.

 

He sat up to get a better look. The light may have been relatively dim, but it still hurt so he had to squint.

 

For some reason, he was lying within a circle that had been drawn in the sand. It was wide, and a bit sloppy, but undeniably round. His clothes were on the outside of it, as well as a pair of swords that were stabbed into the soil and crossed.

 

When he stood, the blood ran from his head. He groaned, eyes drifting shut while a wave of nausea swept through him. His stomach kicked and shifted, but gradually settled. When it did, he forced his eyes open again and approached his crumpled clothes.

 

Somehow, without managing to tumble face-first into the sand, Mad Sweeney tugged his trousers on and stepped towards the swords. One was his. He recognized it, the wide spread of steel, the angry edge dented from previous battles, and the hilt with a flourished curl. It was his, no denying it, but the other was a stranger. It was a similar design, but lacked the bronze of his. Instead, it was simpler, bright silver steel with leather wrapped around the hilt. The leather was worn and the blade’s edge was chipped.

 

He reached down and yanked his weapon free. Eyes, slowly clearing the longer he was awake, continued to scan the area and no sooner than they landed on a mass of pale fabric did he hear splashing water. In an instant he was low, his sword raised high and his body primed –for a second.

 

A woman rose from the river, facing him as she ran her hands over her head to smooth the water away. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that the previous night began to pulse within his mind.

 

_A torrent of black hair tumbled from the knot that once kept it at bay. She slammed herself down on him repeatedly and he met her in stride. His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her thighs. In the orange light of the nearby fire, he saw the way her bare chest still glistened. The expensive dress had long-been discarded and the thin chemise she wore was tattered and torn, little more than pieces after he’d tried greedily to get it off her body._

_Her head fell back as she rode him with a strength he hadn’t felt for as long as he could remember. She couldn’t have been entirely human, not with the way she consumed his every sense._

_He struggled to keep his eyes open and watch as she cried out in pleasure and he followed her into oblivion._

 

The Mad King shook his aching head as though it would help straighten his memories in the least. It only seemed to add more.

 

_Naked beneath him and staring up through glowing blue eyes, he slammed into her with a blinding strength –harder than he ever had before. And she loved it, begged him for more._

 

Then another flash - _his hands slid up the length of her spine. Her skin burned beneath his palm. He drove into her sharply from behind and she clutched at the ground. Her fingers bit through the soft sand while his fisted the hair at the crown of her head. He pulled, drawing her back to his chest, all the while moving inside her. He continued to fuck her while he groped at her naked chest.  
_

 

He remembered licking hard cider off her body, and her lips on him. It might not have been entirely clear, and he remembered the evening through a drunken brain, but he knew he hadn’t made that up.

 

They’d spent the whole night drinking and fucking.

 

A grin twitched at his lips.

 

The stranger continued to draw closer to the shore and very quickly, Sweeney was aware that she was completely naked. The grin faded immediately and his brows rose in shock.

 

Rivulets of water cascaded down her milky skin, over her curves and down her legs as she emerged like some sort of ethereal nymph, but he knew that wasn’t right. She was a Viking. He could tell by the tattoos on her body and the sword that had been with his. The tattoos were a bit distracting, the wolf on her arm and the serpent on her thigh, but they weren’t alone. Connecting the pair were thin, winding tendrils of Nordic chains and banners of runic words. They were substantial, delicate, and somehow vicious. They tugged at the warrior in him, the warrior who knew only the fiercest women wore ink.

 

As she neared and her feet sank into the sand, she met his gaze and smiled. She never shied away, never bothered to hide her nakedness. She was comfortable in it, and he was glad for the chance to ogle. She was perfect, like she’d been sculpted out of marble with a body pulled straight out of his fantasies.

 

“Good morning, Irishman.” She said as she passed him.

 

Still gripping his sword, he watched, turning in his spot to keep her in his sights. She made her way to the mound of pale clothing and began to sift through it.

 

“So,” She said as she lifted what was left of her under-things. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Any idea as to what happened last night?”

 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Fuckin’ and drinkin’.”

 

Her smile broadened as though she was amused instead of offended by his comment. That was a rare enough instance.

 

“I remember that.” She said with a glint in her blue eyes. With a skirt in place, she decided to forgo the corset and simply stepped into her gown while she faced him. “I mean beyond that. Why were our hands bound in lace?” His brows furrowed. “And our swords crossed.”

 

He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he took another look around and noted the circle he’d been lying in. The evidence was there, but he couldn’t quite put the pieces together. Until there was another flash.

 

_He was lying on top of her, her soft chest crushed beneath his hard, muscular one. Her cheeks were pink and her skin glimmering from a mixture of cider and sweat. She stared up at him with adoration, satisfaction, and something he couldn’t quite identify._

_Her hand tenderly touched his cheek, sifting through his beard with ease. It tickled when her finger glanced across his bottom lip._

_“You’re beautiful.”_

_The words lingered in the air and it took his drunken brain a minute to register that she’d said them at all. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t linger. Instead, with an arm snaked beneath her body, he lifted her. He sat up with her in his lap. She continued to stare at him with that strange, foreign expression._

_“I want to keep you.” She whispered softly. Her words still vibrated through him._

_He lingered without responding. No one had ever wanted to keep him before and instead of being offended by the stupid offer, he was intrigued. The thought of a woman, of this woman wanting him as much as that caused some dead little thing inside him to spark with possible life. _

_Undeniably drawn to her as much as she seemed drawn to him, an idea came to him. Swimming in gallons of alcohol, it was a brilliant idea._

He’d torn a piece of lace from her dress and stood with her. He pulled his sword from the depths of his hoard. To his surprise, one magically appeared in her hand as well, though he was too drunk to think of how. Together, they walked in a circle, closing themselves inside it. She stabbed her weapon into the soft earth. He did, too, crossing his in front of it.

 

And then, grasping her hand in his, he proceeded to tie them together in a piece of lace. After it was secured, they kissed once more and fell to the ground, filled once again with that intense desire that accompanied them since they met.

 

“Christ,” He muttered as he continued to look around. Hesitantly, he met her eye. She was dressed, but the gown was loose in need of being tied. “I think we’re hitched.”

 

She arched a brow and looked around as well. Her gaze lingered on her sword. “Did I give you that?” She asked as she pointed at it. He shrugged. “If I gave you that, and you gave me yours, then I think you’re right. Is that what the lace means in Ireland?”

 

“Aye,” He nodded. “Blue dress an’ all. Even the circle.”

 

Her brows rise in surprise. She chewed on her bottom lip slightly while she nodded. “Alright.” She stepped toward him, exuding that same ‘thing’ that drew him the previous night. “I’m Tove.”

 

“Buile Shuibhne,” He told her.

 

She grinned a little. “Mad Sweeney is your name?”

 

“Aye,” He nodded briskly.

 

“Well,” A soft giggle touched her words. “There are worse things than waking up married to an Irish warrior.”

 

Sweeney didn’t bother hiding his sarcastic surprise. “That what I am, hm?” He joked.

 

“That’s why I chose you.” She slowly approached him. “I knew I wanted you the moment I saw you.” Tove stopped her advance when she was near enough to reach out and tenderly hold his jaw in her hands. She drew him closer. “That’s why you’re mine now.”

 

She gave him a mind-clearing kiss, wiping away the drunken stupor and surprise of her declaration in little more than a moment. Sweeney felt that same need that fueled him the night before surge. He wrapped his arms around her body and held her close while he reciprocated the kiss.

 

He believed her. He believed that Tove had claimed him and he was entirely okay with the thought.

 

It was a hard thing to describe. Sweeney didn’t feel owned, even though it sounded like that was what she’d done. Instead, he felt desired. Somehow, he knew she’d marked him, and he was more than content with the knowledge.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm finished! I've finished the story, 10 chapters. I'll pick it up when the show returns, but for now, yes. It's finished. I'm going to be uploading the last few chapters on specific days because, honestly, I'm a comment whore and I want to know if you guys are enjoying it. :) So, let me know what you think and enjoy!
> 
> Skuld (schooled)  
> Sigrun (seeg-run)  
> And the other two are pronounced phonetically. No clue for the hound...

**Chapter Seven**

 

_New York City, New York_

 

Tove made it to the Big Apple within the hour, powered by the supernatural force of her faithful hound, Mánagarmr –the Moon Hound. He was the wolf that was destined to devour the moon when Ragnarok fell on the world.

 

His black body glimmered in the passing light, his wheels tearing apart the asphalt as she drove. His thunderous snarls, barks, and howls echoed off the passing buildings, deafening and terrifying at the same time. Mánagarmr was her beast, her creature on the back of which she had ridden into a thousand battles.

 

She felt like she was riding into another.

 

Tove didn’t slow until she felt the pull of her sisters close by. As she guided the bike to the side of the street, she looked up and noticed that the building she was drawn to was a security firm. She arched a brow as she removed her helmet, surprised and not at the same time.

 

Throwing her leg over the bike, she set her helmet aside and entered the structure, unzipping her jacket and keeping her eyes keenly drawn.

 

The interior of the building was nondescript with stark, plain walls, a ficus in the corner, and a woman sitting behind the front desk. Tove walked past her without a second glance, ignoring her calls for Tove to return.

 

She walked down the hall, the thrum of her sisters’ presence growing stronger and stronger. She could hear people talking, saw a few walking around and going about their business until finally reaching a door. Without bothering to knock, Tove opened it to reveal a substantial office. Sitting behind the desk was a woman with auburn hair, her nose down and focused on her work.

 

A spark electrified the space and Tove saw her stiffen. She lifted her head and peered at the Valkyrie in black through the fake lenses of a pair of glasses. Her skin was sun-kissed and pristine, her cheeks defined and her jaw strong. She was lovely in every sense and exuded an incredible authority.

 

She rose to her feet in a smooth motion and removed her glasses, dropping them carelessly onto the desk.

 

“It’s time, Grimhildr.” Tove said.

 

A smile, wicked and beautiful, twisted her sister’s lips. “Finally,” Grimhildr beamed.

 

She reached forward and with a lithe finger pressed a button on her phone. A loud beep pierced the silent room.

 

“Yeah?” A familiar voice chimed.

 

“Come along, Skuld.” Grimhildr said. “Tove’s here to retrieve us.”

 

A string of laughter burst from the speaker before being cut short. Not a moment later, the door opened once more and an excited giantess stood in the threshold. Decked in a tailored suit not unlike Grimhildr’s stood their other sister, Skuld. Her red hair shined like the fire in her eyes. She was ready for anything.

 

Tove said nothing further as she left the office, flanked on either side by women of similar height and imposing natures. Together again, they radiated an undeniable wave of power. It flowed from them and drew the eyes of the humans in the office, all of whom gave the trio a wide berth.

 

They exited the building and on either side of Tove’s motorcycle was another, one painted a blood red, the other a deep, dusky, golden brown. Each Valkyrie straddled their respective wolf, now donning a leather outfit not dissimilar to their beasts.

 

“Where to first?” Skuld as she as placed her helmet on.

 

“Los Angeles,” Tove replied.

 

In a cool voice, Grimhildr said, “Hildegund is closer.”

 

“Sigrún first,” Tove said. “Then we’ll go to New Orleans.”

 

“And then?” Skuld asked excitedly.

 

“Cairo, Illinois. To All Father.” Tove said.

 

She kicked her bike to life and a chorus of the same followed. Ensuring her helmet was in place and she had a tight grip, Tove set off to the west. On either side rode her sisters.

 

* * *

 

 

_New Orleans, Louisiana_

 

The sun was down and Laura was eagerly awaiting the chance to get her life back. The sign outside read that the shop (restaurant?) she was in didn’t close until midnight and even though the patrons were beginning to dwindle, she was desperate for Time to move faster. Was there a God of Time? There had to be. There seemed to be a God of everything else, so why not? Maybe she should pray to it for the clock to move faster.

 

Sweeney was still off to the side drinking to his heart’s content while young women fawned over him. Laura didn’t understand why it happened, or how. As far as she was concerned, he was a loud, obnoxious, foul-smelling prick. And yet, every woman he spoke to seemed to fall victim to his charm.

 

Laura rolled her eyes again. A twinge of something similar to jealousy trickled down her back. She refused to give it a second thought. She wasn’t jealous of the women surrounding Sweeney, or wishing that she could have felt anything when he hugged her to his chest before their trip through his hoard. There was no heat against her skin, no pressure, no nothing. The only time she felt anything was when she kissed Shadow, or whenever Tove laid a hand on her.

 

The memory caused her to fight a shiver. The look in the Valkyrie’s eye was terrifying. It was cold and angry, but there was a level of precise calm to the anger. It wasn’t manic like with most people, that type of frantic rage that meant mistakes and a clouded mind. Tove had been very aware of what she was doing and what she wanted.

 

Laura swallowed a phantom lump in her throat and went back to waiting.

 

Just after midnight, when the shop had finally closed and Brigitte had given Laura something disgusting to drink, she was finally able to feel. She could feel and taste. It was dulled compared to being alive, but after weeks of nothing, it was sensory overLoad.

 

“The favor’s for me, Baron.” Sweeney said with a stern, undeniable edge. “So, do we have a compact?”

 

Samedi fell into his chair at the head of the square table and the small, petite woman with the ivory skin and fiery hair sat on the arm. The Baron cradled her hips to him and flashed a wide, brilliant smile. His pale grey eyes sparkled from beneath the brim of his hat, partially hidden in shadow, but still somehow glowing. They made Laura uncomfortable, and she didn’t know why.

 

Both of them stared at Laura, openly and without the slightest hint of looking away. Most people didn’t maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. Laura read somewhere that it was a confrontational thing, a challenging move that sparked the desire to fight deep inside someone, so humans just don’t stare like that. But Laura had to remind herself that she was the only human in the room.

 

From out of nowhere, The Baron suddenly shuddered. His eyes closed and his body physically shook for the briefest of moments. The instant it passed, he let out a long, low breath, and looked at them once more.

 

“Y’all feel that?” He asked the three around him.

 

Laura shook her head and shrugged. Sweeney paused. He looked as though he was attempting to sense something, but eventually shook his head, too. Brigitte, on the other hand, looked none-too-happy about something.

 

“Shit,” Brigitte sighed with clear annoyance staining her features.

 

She tapped the edge of her burning cigar off to the side. The ashes fluttered to the wooden floor, some of it disappearing between the wide slats. She pursed her lips in disapproval while The Baron smiled wide, flashing his perfect teeth once more. His silver eyes landed on Sweeney.

 

“We got company comin’.” He said.

 

Sweeney grumbled. “Well, they can wait their fuckin’ turn, alright? We gotta deal or not?”

 

Neither Loa spoke at first. Instead, Samedi continued to muse over something and Brigitte took another long pull of her cigar.

 

“Feels like all five this time.” She said in a clipped tone, smoke rolling from her lips with each word.

 

The redheaded giant seemed to be losing his patience and snapped a little as a result. Laura arched a brow when he did.

 

“Five of fuckin’ what?”

 

“Valkyrie.” Samedi chuckled.

 

Sweeney’s face fell and Laura’s chest seized. She clenched her jaw and chewed on the inside of her cheek.

 

“What?” All of the confrontation had left his voice when Mad Sweeney spoke again. The Baron simply nodded. “How the fuck you know that?”

 

“Death knows death, mon ami.” He replied. His smooth voice glided across the table, meeting Laura’s ears and tempting her into what she knew would be a false calm.

 

Laura didn’t know what that meant, or if asking would even help her understand. There was always so much going on around her that she’d learned a while back to just ‘go with the flow’.

 

“The fuck they doin’ here?” Sweeney asked with genuine confusion.

 

“Who knows?” Samedi shrugged. “Maybe one of them needs a favor, too?”

 

The Leprechaun glowered. Laura didn’t know what was happening, but it was clear that The Baron was taunting him, and Brigitte wasn’t having it.

 

“Quit fuckin’ with him.” She said to her husband. She set the smoldering cigar on a saucer and stood. “You know why they’re here.”

 

Brigitte sauntered to the door, shaking her hips as she did. It was hypnotic, even to Laura. Sweeney glanced over his shoulder, too.

 

“They’ll be here soon.” The Baron cooed deeply.

 

They could hear the sound of the door’s lock click. Brigitte had only made it halfway back before it suddenly opened. Laura felt an immediate wave of bitter cold wash through her. It was so much more severe than a ‘someone walking over her grave’ kind of cold.

 

Everything happened in slow motion.

 

Brigitte glanced behind her and stepped to the side, giving everyone at the table a clear view of whoever had entered. It was indeed five women, each far taller than both Laura and Maman Brigitte.

 

In the lead was a face Dead Wife recognized: Tove. To her left was a woman of equal intimidating beauty and undeniable strength with elbow-length auburn hair and a stern line to her jaw. Just off her left shoulder was another woman, similar to the first, with ashen-blonde hair that was pulled back and up into a tight ponytail. To Tove’s right was a young woman with long, wavy, fiery hair that was braided away from her perfect face, and a vicious smirk, her eyes sparkling with delight. Just behind her was the fifth and final young woman, a woman with brilliant fair hair shorn close to her head and modeled in a pixie fashion.

 

All of them towered over the average person, even more so with heeled boots on their feet. Each wore leather that wasn’t too different than their hair color, as though it was intentionally coordinated, but it wasn’t ‘matchy-matchy’. The odd thing was that, despite the outfits being little more than boots, leather pants, and a leather jacket (and should have been utterly cliché), they had the appearance of armor, like the only thing missing was the metal. To be honest, Laura wasn’t certain she didn’t see wisps of chainmail and a breastplate or two blinking in and out of existence.

 

What was perhaps the most unsettling to Dead Wife, however, were their eyes. She’d seen Tove’s more than once, that brilliant, ice blue color that should have looked unnatural on a person. After seeing the five together, it apparently wasn’t as uncommon as Laura had initially thought. To her surprise, all of them had the same exact eye color. All of them. There was no deviation in the shades, no difference between them. All five pairs of eyes glowed with the same electric blue color, to the point they seemed to pulse with life and unseen fire.

 

The group of five made it almost entirely into the restaurant before Tove noticed who was sat at the table. Her brows furrowed as she stared at Sweeney.

 

“What are you doing here?” She asked him as she finished her advance.

 

He threw his thumb over his shoulder, drawing her attention to Laura. Tove didn’t look happy to see her, which she could understand. She felt the same.

 

“You?” He asked.

 

Tove didn’t reply. Instead, she glanced behind her. Two of the other women stepped forward. The one with the ashen hair held a bottle of rum. She promptly handed it to Brigitte and, for the first time since The Baron sensed the group, she smiled.

 

“Oh,” She cooed, swaying in her spot as she ran her full bottom lip between her teeth. “Spiced rum. My favorite.” Brigitte started toward her husband once more. As she passed Tove, she reached up and swept her fingers delicately across the Valkyrie’s cheek. “How’d you know, baby?”

 

Tove smiled down at the woman who didn’t even reach her shoulder.

 

The redhead with the crazy eyes appeared with a box of cigars in hand. She stepped around them all and to the table. Laura caught sight of it when she set it down on the blank spot in front of Samedi. He let loose a low, rumbling chuckle. It was a box of Haitian cigars.

 

“Perfect,” He grinned. The Baron tipped his head to them and gently touched the brim of his hat when he did. “Gratitude to you, Shield Maidens.”

 

The five of them each offered him a nod in return. Laura didn’t know what was happening, but she couldn’t help but watch like a curious onlooker.

 

“Brigitte!” Samedi called. “Let us return the favor, no?”

 

Brigitte slinked into the back, somewhere out of Laura’s view. She wanted to say something, to speak out and demand that she be given priority considering she and Sweeney had been there all day, but the words wouldn’t rise. Instead, they caught in her throat. Her gaze drifted to Tove, still standing in the forefront of the group and flanked by the others. The very air vibrated around them and Laura honestly couldn’t tell if it was her previous run-in with the Valkyrie that stained her view, or if it was real. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to risk angering all of them.

 

Maman Brigitte reappeared a minute or two after she’d disappeared with a tray of clear glass beer steins filled to the brim with a dark lager. The head on them was perfect. A part of Laura’s brain recalled every beer commercial ever.

 

Brigitte walked casually around the five, allowing each to take a mug. They would have been huge in Laura’s hand, but seemed downright average with the Valkyries. The Baron rose and held up his glass of rum which he’d refilled with the open bottle that had been resting on the table. Brigitte joined him and uncorked her new bottle. She raised it, too.

 

“An offering to the Valkyries.” He said.

 

They toasted each other, lifted their drinks to their lips and proceeded to drink heavily from them. Samedi finished off his easily enough. Brigitte took a couple of long swigs as well from the slender neck of her bottle. She’d turned it completely upright when she had. Laura, with her brows furrowed, watched as the red chili peppers that had been resting at the bottom drifted towards her mouth. When they had, Brigitte happily took one between her teeth, pulled it from the bottle when she turned it right-side up once more, and ate it.

 

Laura cringed and let her attention drift to the Valkyries. Each one of them swallowed mouthfuls of their lager, draining the mugs (which probably held more than a solid pint) within a minute or less. They drank like pros, the proof in the form of dry chins -not one sporting a drop of spilled beer.

 

When everyone’s glass or mug was empty, they set them aside. Tove was the one to speak.

 

“We’ll leave you to your business.”

 

As before, Samedi gave them an approving and grateful nod. Tove looked down at Sweeney. She smiled sweetly, tenderly ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head in an endearing way, then turned to leave with the others in tow. Sweeney had watched them leave and lingered even after they disappeared through the door. Laura was about to say something, but he spoke first.

 

“Back in a tick.” He said, abruptly standing and leaving the shop.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sweeney made it outside, the Valkyrie were mounting their beasts, a pack of motorcycles as powerful and filled with raw strength as the women who straddled him. Tove, already on her bike, glanced up before she had the chance to slide her helmet on.

 

“Yes, darling?” She asked with a slight grin that made him do the same.

 

“Hubby’s lookin’ a lil’ worse for wear.” The blonde with the pixie-cut sneered, commenting on the black-eye and cuts that Sweeney, genuinely, had no idea how he got. “Should’ve been gentler, Sister.”

 

“Fuck off, Hildegund.” He growled.

 

She smiled wide and the sound of two or three of them giggling met his ears. Mad Sweeney glared at her only briefly before turning his eye back to Tove.

 

“Minute?” He asked, jerking his head to the side.

 

She nodded, stepped off her bike, and walked with him a short distance until they were just behind the corner of the building.

 

“What you doin’ here?” He asked her.

 

“Hildegund was here in New Orleans.” She explained. “She’s been here for a while now. Cage fighting.”

 

His brows rose as he nodded nonchalantly. It made sense that she would be.  “Why come see The Baron, though?”

 

“New Orleans is their territory. Came by to pay our respects to The Baron and Maman Brigitte.” She continued. “Besides, if we don’t give offerings to one another, who will?”

 

A soft, slightly sad smile touched her lips. It made sense. Not only was it a mutual show of respect between the two Death omens, but she was right. Lower mythical beings like themselves weren’t exactly flush with followers anymore. Samedi and Brigitte didn’t truly suffer for it being their kind was revered in New Orleans, but he still understood.

 

“They’re gonna help me get Dead Wife back to normal.” He said.

 

He felt like he had to explain what they both knew would likely happen, but the glitter in Tove’s eye told him she was already aware. Tove knew how voodoo worked, how the Loa worked. They were simple. Sex, drugs, and alcohol- that was all they needed.

 

Tove closed the distance between them and let her lips form against his. Sweeney’s eyes drifted shut and he kissed her back.

 

A wave of calm swept through him in that instant, a level of calm that let his shoulders fall and relax. He hadn’t even realized he was tense until he felt the ache of the muscles loosening. Sweeney slid the fingers of one massive hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head.

 

The kiss was sweet and tender, two emotions that weren’t common between the pair, but not unheard of. There had been times throughout the centuries that they were known to be downright loving to one another. It just so happened that blinding passion was generally what accompanied them more often than not.

 

Sweeney let out a soft sigh as they parted. When he opened his eyes, he saw Tove smiling up at him knowingly. She cocked a delicate brow, gave him a wink, then walked away. He turned and watched as she got onto Mánagarmr. Tove pulled her helmet on and kick started the Moon Hound. Her sisters did the same.

 

Skuld, the nut-job in red, twiddled her fingers at him in a sarcastic wave. He promptly flipped her off and somehow knew she was smiling beneath the shining facemask of her helmet.

 

Tove drove onto the street and suddenly vanished from sight, disappearing in a blinding, silvery light that swooshed away down the road. She was like a meteor, but there on Earth instead of sailing over it. One by one, the other four vanished behind her in the same way –flashes of silver that sped away at lightning speed.

 

When they were gone, Sweeney took a breath, readying himself for the insanity that was about to take place.

 

He reached out for the door only to have it open from the inside. Brigitte emerged from within, grinning wickedly up at him. His brows tugged together in confusion.

 

“Sweeney, mon amor.” She practically cooed the words. “Resurrection is Samedi’s business. We’re not needed here no more.” Her lithe fingers glided up his chest. “You comin’?”

 

He watched as she slinked away with her brand new bottle of rum in her hand. He glanced once more to the building before he followed after her.

 

* * *

 

 

Well into the Witching Hour, Sweeney found himself fucking a Death Loa in the middle of New Orleans’ most famous cemetery. The moisture in the air coated his skin alongside the thick fog that hovered above the ground. Everything was charged with magic and sex.

 

Maman Brigitte gasped and moaned as he drove into her. Her toes were pressed against an obelisk, her hands clasped around the small iron fence that surrounded a grave. She threw her head back and continued to cry out while the fog began to move. It undulated and pulsed around them as he worked almost feverishly to reach his end.

 

The fog crept higher and higher until it circled the pair completely. Mad Sweeney’s head began to spin and he knew, in that moment, that the fog wasn’t fog. It was something else, something that instantly made the world around him fade.

 

Mad Sweeney’s body vibrated, but felt heavy at the same time. His muscles were loose, like they were little more than jelly. Brigitte’s clothes began to vanish revealing the pale, soft flesh beneath. As the seconds ticked by, he began to realize that she was fuzzy, out of focus –like seeing her through a frosted window. Sweeney shook his head to try and straighten everything again, but it wasn’t working. Whatever was happening to him refused to be ignored or pushed aside.

 

Brigitte’s back arched as she fell backward, showing her now-naked chest to the sky. Still holding her hips firmly in his massive hands, Sweeney continued to drive into her.

 

His head spun and the cemetery had vanished from sight. Sweeney was deep inside the Loa’s spell and he knew it, he just didn’t care.

 

The woman in his arms rose to wrap her arms around his neck, but the eyes staring back at him weren’t those of Maman Brigitte. Tove’s lips were parted, her delicate brows pulled together, and her hips moved in tandem with him. He didn’t know where she’d come from, nor did he care in the slightest. Instead, filled with a resurgence of desire, Sweeney increased his efforts.

 

He pressed his forehead to hers and felt his muscles burn as he thrust into her. In his mind he could hear her, hear her gasps, her moans, and her begging for him to continue. Sweeney was swept up in the torrent of sex and magic, more than ready to lose himself in it.

 

His end was fast approaching and Sweeney knew he wanted to see her face when it happened. He wrenched open his eyes to watch her, but it wasn’t quite Tove anymore. She faded out of existence –her hair growing duller in shade, her face rounder, and her eyes shifting tone to reveal Dead Wife.

 

Too far gone to draw back, the Mad King saw his shock mirrored back at him through Dead Wife’s face a split second before he came. The euphoria charged through him to a powerful degree and he hated it as much as his clouded mind could hate anything.

 

Fucking Brigitte and Samedi and their fucking games…

 


	8. Chapter 8

_Cairo, Illinois_

 

Shadow guided Betty into the sloping drive of _Ibis and Jaquel Funeral Parlor_ , but was unable to pull as far up as he had the day before.

 

“Ah!” Wednesday chimed in a glad tone. “They’re here.”

 

Shadow turned off the ignition and eyed the small fleet of motorcycles skeptically –all of which looked like a Harley Davidson or some equally intimidating model.

 

“Who?” He asked sarcastically. “The Hell’s Angels?”

 

Wednesday let out a laugh that Shadow had heard more than once, that loud, almost-too-happy laugh that normal people didn’t use.

 

“Not far from the truth, my boy.” He replied. “They are _my_ angels, Valkyries –vicious warriors who sail into battle astride their equally vicious wolves. The most beautiful women you have ever seen in your life, stronger than any man, and the last thing a warrior sees before being shuffled off to Valhalla.”

 

A twinge crept across the back of Shadow’s neck, a twinge that threatened to raise the hair if he had any.

 

“Tove,” He said.

 

“And her sisters.” Wednesday said as he stepped out of Ol’ Betty. Shadow joined him. “Or at least what’s left of them. Come on.”

 

Shadow followed a step behind as they made their way into the funeral parlor. He recalled everything he’d learned about the mythical warriors. Like most everything he found himself surrounded by, there were multiple stories about Valkyries. He had no idea which of them was true without speaking to one of them. Maybe he would, he couldn’t say. A lot had happened to him since he’d met Tove at that weird old maze of a house. He wasn’t as timid as he used to be.

 

Shadow remained close in toe as Wednesday led the way. Whatever guided the old man, Shadow couldn’t feel, so he was simply along for the ride.

 

They entered the greenhouse, an open space with dusty pots, long-since-abandoned gardening tools, and the growing tree that –Shadow could have sworn- was a twig only a day prior. The room wasn’t empty, either. Scattered throughout were five women, only one of whom he recognized.

 

On a table to his left, Shadow saw a woman with skin so fair it glowed. Full lips, high cheekbones, fluorescent blue eyes, and ashen-blonde hair pulled back tight –she looked formidable. A cool, icy aura surrounded her. She met his gaze unblinkingly. He felt himself being pulled into something he couldn’t explain and had to physically force himself to look away.

 

Sitting in a chair not far from her, with her feet up in an adjacent chair, was another young woman very similar to the first though her face was a little longer, more in an oval shape than her sister. Her hair was by far the shortest, perhaps only an inch or so in length while long bangs swept down across her face, shielding one of her equally-bright blue eyes. She too stared at Shadow.

 

To the right, leaning against the column that formed the archway that separated the half of the greenhouse he was in from the half with the tree was yet another stranger. Just as beautiful, just as intimidating was a woman with auburn hair that fell to her elbows. Unlike the previous pair, her eyes (while the same color) were filled with calm and deadly focus. They made Shadow have to fight a cringe, as though her eyes were more than enough to tear his very soul from his body. It was an odd thing to think, entirely out of left field really, but it was how he felt.

 

Just beyond her was another woman with blood-red hair. It was braided away from her face in an Old World sort of way. She wasn’t looking at Shadow like the others were. Instead, she had a long spear in her hands. She was practicing with it, swinging it through the air, lunging and twirling it with a beautiful, but deadly precision. It was enchanting and even though it looked like a dance, Shadow knew how dangerous it was.

 

Tove was just beyond her, standing in front of the tree with her back to the room, staring at it.

 

“Shield Maidens,”

 

The air immediately shifted, somehow becoming oppressive and thick. All movement ceased from the woman with the red hair, and attention shifted to Wednesday. He grinned while they approached. The two to Shadow’s left stood and took a few steps closer. The one to his right approached as well, alongside the redhead. Tove was slower to, but eventually did.

 

The five women stood before Shadow and Wednesday in a semi-circle with Tove in the center. Shadow’s gaze danced along all of them. His skin prickled. He couldn’t explain the feelings rushing through him because he hadn’t felt them before, but he knew something was wrong. It wasn’t as strong as ‘fight or flight’, but he knew without knowing that the women standing in front of him were dangerous. They exuded that same kind of ‘otherworldliness’ that surrounded Chernobog, Bilquis, and Ostara. It was almost as if, like them, these five didn’t bother attempting to be human like Wednesday. They let their power flow.

 

“Shadow,” Wednesday said. Shadow flinched. He hadn’t expected to be addressed for some reason and it surprised him. “These are my Valkyries, Sigrún,” He motioned toward the woman with the ashen hair and then proceeded from left to right, “Hildegund, Tove you know, Skuld, and Grimhildr.” Their collective gazes landed on him. Tove was the only one who offered a little, comforting smile. “Ladies, this is Shadow Moon.”

 

“Hi,” He mumbled out of some need to be polite. The fiery Skuld grinned wickedly as though she was amused by him. Shadow had the sneaking suspicion that she was the cat, and he was the mouse.

 

“Shadow, my boy,” Wednesday’s voice brought him back to the moment. He reached for the case still clamped in Shadow’s hand. The young man gave it to him. “Give me a minute with them. Get some sleep, okay? You need it.”

 

“Sure,” He replied. Shadow looked back to the congregation. “Nice meeting you.”

 

He couldn’t say if that was a lie or not, but like before, he felt compelled to be polite.

 

Turning his back on them felt wrong, but he wasn’t going to back out of the room. That would have just been further proof that they unnerved him.

 

Shadow was indeed tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep immediately. To waste some time, he decided to explore the funeral parlor. He’d been through the floor plan before, but this time he lingered in some places, looked at the house plants that were meant to add life to the house of death, and the portraits on the walls of people he didn’t know. Probably a half an hour later, he decided to head up to his room.

 

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The moment he heard it latch shut, Shadow sensed he wasn’t alone. It was almost as though closing himself off from the rest of the house made the feeling even more noticeable.

 

He spun around to face whatever had snuck into his room. More than once already he’d had visitors whether he wanted to or not, and now was no different.

 

“Hello, Shadow Moon.” Her voice was like silk, soft and comforting enough that his eyes actually fluttered under the sound of it.

 

“Hi,” He muttered unsurely.

 

She slinked closer, gliding across the floor wearing a gossamer gown. It fell from strong shoulders in multiple layers, but the fabric was so thin that he could see the shape of her body underneath. Her blood-red hair was down this time, cascading around her body in long, luscious waves. The braids were gone.

 

As she continued to approach him, Shadow began to retreat –slow and gradual.

 

“Skuld, right?”

 

Her full lips twisted into a smile and she nodded.

 

“Uh, why are you in my room?”

 

She said nothing at first, only continued her advance. Shadow clenched his jaw out of habit, or because he thought it would help him in some way. It didn’t.

 

Skuld was graceful and silent as she walked, like a cat, which only served to remind Shadow that he was the prey in this situation. No matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes on hers, he couldn’t. They were too overwhelming, and his gaze drifted as a result.

 

Through the layers of pale, translucent fabric that covered her body, Shadow could see the curve of her waist. There were hints of black tattoos wrapped around her sides and likely sprawled across her back. The round slope of her thighs showed him just how curvy she was. He could see every detail of her ample bust pressing against the gown, which made his heart beat a little faster than it should have.

 

His back hit the door and a shock of fear bolted through him. “Did you need something?” He felt compelled to ask.

 

She giggled and it was disturbing. The sound was far too delicate and innocent for her.

 

Skuld reached forward and cradled his cheek in her hand. She drew his gaze to her and it was then that Shadow realized she stood roughly an inch shorter than him. He was six-foot-two, which meant she was easily six-feet.

 

“You,” She replied simply.

 

The word barely had a chance to seep into his brain before she leaned forward and kissed him. Shadow felt a rush of magic, or something equally as strong and invigorating. At first, he didn’t want to return the affection, but it was futile.

 

He let out a sigh when he felt her tongue sweep across his lips, begging for entrance. He gladly deepened the action. Shadow wrapped his arms around her body and held her close and passion rose very quickly.

 

She gripped his shirt and tugged him toward the bed before promptly shoving him into it. Shadow’s knees caught the edge. He grunted from the force and bounced slightly on the mattress. He didn’t like being in such a vulnerable position, so he quickly sat up. Skuld was still smiling down at him.

 

Her fingers gathered the fabric of her dress, raising it higher and higher until she could hold it comfortably around her waist. She stepped forward and climbed into his lap, planting a knee on either side of his thighs. Shadow leaned back only enough to accommodate. Skuld immediately kissed him again.

 

His mind was clearing and good sense followed it.

 

Shadow barely registered Skuld tugging at the waist of his jeans, or pulling his erection free before she lowered herself onto him. He fought a groan, breaking their kiss as he his senses were overrun. She never gave him the chance to acclimate and immediately began to rock into him.

 

His mind immediately began to drift, clouded by the intensity of the woman enveloping him. He held her tightly. Skuld, moving faster than he could see, tugged the gossamer off her body. It fluttered to the floor and exposed her milky body to him completely.

 

He didn’t know what was happening, or how he found himself in the situation he was in, but he was more than willing to continue.

 

* * *

 

 

Tove was sat outside halfway down the stairs that led to the garden. The moon was nearly full and that, accompanied by the soft glow of the lamps that surrounded them, meant the entire space was cast in an eerie glow. Towering gravestones in the background didn’t help things. But this was where Tove felt comfortable. She felt comfortable surrounded by death, surrounded by the dead.

 

She leaned back, resting her elbows on the steps behind her, and with her legs splayed out in front. A soft black haze danced through the graveyard. It held her dwindling attention as it twisted and curled around the bits of stones, through trees and into shadows. It looked like wisps of ink dropped into water, and moved in a similar way.

 

They were souls.

 

Tove heard footsteps and turned her head a bit to the side. It was her sister, Sigrún.

 

Sigrún was a quiet woman. She spoke only when there was a need, not one to bother wasting breath. She was a typical soldier in a lot of ways –prepared to fight, good at her job, and followed orders to a T.

 

There was a ranking to them that suited their personalities. Tove was the General –the shot-caller and the one in charge of wrangling the others. She was the eldest, after all, so it fell to her shoulders.

 

Grimhildr was the Lieutenant General, the second in command and Tove’s right hand because her mind was without equal when it came to strategy. She was invaluable in times of war, and Tove was smart enough to know it.

 

Sigrún was the Major General, Tove’s left hand. Sigrún was dangerously intelligent, and calculating. She was lethal and knew how to exploit an enemy in a way different to Grimhildr. Sigrún went for the knees, for their opponent’s weaknesses and preferred to attack them from the sides. She was deceptively sneaky and cold.

 

Their sisters Skuld and Hildegund were different. The pair of them were more like Privates, or Gunners, or simple Troopers –whichever word would best describe a grunt. They didn’t care about strategy or subversion. They wanted blood and thrived in it. Skuld especially. The fiery Valkyrie was, without a doubt, in love with bloodshed. She adored the crimson that spilled from people. Hildegund was more a fan of hand-to-hand combat, which was why she had been a cage fighter for so long.

 

They may have only been five strong, but it was more than enough in most cases.

 

Sigrún sat near Tove on the stairs and too looked out into the graveyard/garden.

 

“They’re sad.” She said after an extended silence.

 

“I know.” Tove replied. Sigrún was talking about the souls left to wander. She could sense it, too. “Where are the others?”

 

“Grimhildr is in the library. Hildegund is drinking. Skuld is fucking the boy.”

 

Tove took a deep breath and shook her head, slightly disappointed in her sister. She knew something like that would happen the moment she noticed how Skuld stared at Shadow. Tove wasn’t one to preach self-control, but sometimes she wished Skuld had at least a little bit.

 

After another silence, Sigrún said, “Death is strong here.”

 

“It’s a funeral home.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blonde look at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

Tove took another deep breath and sighed before softly replying, “I know.”

 

Without another word, Sigrún rose and retreated back inside the home. There was death in the air, a sense and smell that always accompanied places like cemeteries and funeral homes, but that wasn’t what Sigrún meant. She meant the fresh veil of death that was slowly descending on the property.

 

Someone would die at _Ibis and Jaquel_ , and it would be soon.

 

* * *

 

 

_New Orleans, Louisiana_

 

Mad Sweeney woke in the cemetery, lying on the raise, grass-covered grave that he’d seen lying on to watch Maman Brigitte dance the night before. His shirt was gone, the beater too, and he was lying there with his trousers undone.

 

His head throbbed with an ungodly hangover that nearly caused him to vomit all over poor so-and-so’s grave. Sweeney grumbled and groaned as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and allowing his head to fall. He gathered the spittle that was forming in his mouth and launched it at the cracked concrete ground beneath his boots.

 

His memory of the night before was hazy as a fair share of his memories were, but he could remember the highlights. Sex with Brigitte, sex with Tove, then sex with Dead Wife. He’d had an eventful night and knew logically he hadn’t been with three women. Obviously not, but he didn’t appreciate the third woman in that grouping, anyway. And to shove her into his head right as he was on the brink of orgasm was a nasty trick on Brigitte and Samedi’s parts.

 

Sweeney reached for a crinkled, but still intact cigarette he’d rolled the night before yet hadn’t smoked. He placed it between his lips and fished for a lighter.

 

“Fuckin’ Loa.” He grumbled before he put flame to it and breathed deep.

 

* * *

 

 

When he was certain he could walk without vomiting or simply falling over, Mad Sweeney staggered back to the _Noir Coq_ only to find it practically abandoned. The only ‘living’ thing within the entire building was Laura Moon.

 

He felt his upper lip twitch into a grimace as he remembered last night briefly. She hesitated when she saw him, too, and it was then he knew she’d been showed the same. He shifted uncomfortably under the unreadable look on her face.

 

“You alone?” He eventually asked.

 

She scoffed and shook her head. “I don’t know why you came back here.” She said to him. “I’m leaving.”

 

When she tried, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Hey,” He said, drawing her gaze. “Where you goin’?”

 

“Away,”

 

She tried to leave again, but as anger rose inside him, his grip tightened. “You’re not leavin’.”

 

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

 

He clenched his jaw and his anger continued to rise, fueled by frustration and a vicious hangover. “We had a fuckin’ deal. You get your life back, an’ I get my coin.”

 

“Well, I didn’t get my life back, did I?” She snapped at him. “So, fuck you, deal’s off, and I’m keeping your fucking coin.”

 

Laura peeled his hand off her cold arm and walked around him, giving the Leprechaun a wide berth so he couldn’t touch her again.

 

“The fuck you are.” He growled.

 

Sweeney charged for her and stood in front of the young woman so much smaller than he was. He barked at her, asking her what went wrong. She flipped whatever switch there was in her mind that kept her normal. Soon, biting, angry, and hateful words poured from her lips, words designed to cut deep. And they did.

 

“I knew you were Wednesday’s bitch, but I didn’t know you were his whore, too.”

 

Sweeney breathed deeply. His body was charged, primed with the need to throw his jacket down and fight. He wanted to punch her, to grab her limbs and tear them off at the joints. He’d seen it happen before and even though she wasn’t as rotted as she had been, apparently she was still dead enough it could work.

 

“What happened last night was not part of some grand fuckin’ plan, you stupid cunt!” He yelled. “They’re Death Loa. They fucked us! And I don’t run Wednesday’s errands because I like ‘im.” He approached her, his back straight which meant he was so much bigger than her. “I do it cos I fuckin’ owe him.” His voice was tight and filled with rage. “I hate that one-eyed cunt more than you can e _ver_ know.”

 

The Mad King’s muscles twitched. He felt them spasm beneath his skin, aching for him to act. Even he wasn’t that stupid. Dead Wife would kill him without a second thought, no matter what Samedi made her see the night before.

 

Her voice was calm and even when she spoke again. “You do Wednesday’s errands because you’re desperate for a war to die in, but you’re too much of a coward to find one of your own.”

 

He clenched his jaw to a painful degree as he loomed over her. He was done, done dealing with her shit, done listening to her fucking voice –just done.

 

“Dangerous things happen when you break a deal wit’ a fairy.”

 

She leaned forward just enough to instill her point. “Fuck you.”

 

And with that, Laura stepped around him and left shortly after. Sweeney remained on his own, seething, and furious with how things had transpired. He should have had his coin, tucked tenderly away in his hoard where it would never again fall into someone else’s hands. He should have been swimming in luck like he used to be.

 

Sweeney openly cursed the dead woman as he drew a cigarette from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth. The Ancient Gaelic rolled off his tongue with practiced ease.

 

He lifted his lighter and struck it multiple times, but it refused to light. He could feel his luck withering, felt it drifting further and further away with each step Laura took. He’d have chased after her if he thought it would do any good.

 

The next time he saw Tove, he’d ask her to fulfill her promise and rip that fucking coin out of Laura Moon’s chest.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The sheer amount of food a Valkyrie could eat was measured in tens of pounds. The amount of food _four_ could eat was much more.

 

The four Viking women sat around the table shoveling eggs, bacon, and other types of breakfast food into their mouths. Pancakes, French toast, and orange juice –they ate enough to choke a fleet of horses.

 

“Mercy, mercy, mercy,”

 

Anansi’s smooth and cool voice drew the attention of a few of them. Skuld and Hildegund were too busy devouring their meals to notice him at first. Grimhildr and Sigrún were also eating an impressive amount, but they weren’t literally shoving mouthfuls down their gullets.

 

Unlike her sisters, Tove was off to the side sipping on a cup of coffee. She had no appetite. The veil of death that she and Sigrún had felt over the last couple of nights was even thicker than before, to the point it was beginning to take shape.

 

“You ladies can choke down as much food as a herd of fuckin’ buffalo.” He said, staring at the food that covered the table with a slight grimace of disgust.

 

“Have you ever had buffalo, Mr. Nancy?” Hildegund asked with a grin.

 

“Hell no!” He exclaimed proudly. “I ain’t never eaten no _fuckin’_ buffalo. The hell do I look like to you, a fuckin’ Indian?”

 

Hildegund smiled wider, her cheek distended with a large bite of eggs.

 

“I think you’ve upset the spider man, Sister.” Skuld giggled, manic frenzy glittering in her blue eyes. “Did she, spider man?”

 

Anansi glided a few steps closer, reducing the distance between them. He pointed a stern finger at her, his eyes blazing with a fire of their own.

 

“That shit ain’t funny, you crazy fuckin’ Viking.”

 

Tove set her coffee down on the countertop and interceded because she knew a fight was on the way. She stepped forward and tenderly placed her hand on Mr. Nancy’s shoulder. He kept his eyes on Skuld, but stood upright once more.

 

“Forgive her, Anansi.” She said to him. “Both of them, if you would.” Tove cast her sisters a harsh glare before she gave the man at her side her attention. He tore his gaze from them as well, and his expression softened slightly. “In a fight, there’s no one better, but Hildie and Skuld lack decorum, and respect.” She stressed the last word, once more glowering at the two who couldn’t be bothered to even feign shame. “But, family, and all that.”

 

He let out a sharp, short scoff and nodded. He glared at the pair out of the corner of his eye. The animosity was there, but almost entirely wiped away when he addressed Tove.

 

“Believe me, I got my own family problems.” He gave the two his attention. “Some of my kids are dumb as shit, too. Don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

 

He sauntered out of the kitchen shortly after, muttering something under his breath in his native tongue, a language Tove didn’t know.

 

Anansi made no secret of how he felt toward those with a lighter complexion. While he wasn’t downright racist in the sense that he hated everyone who didn’t have a touch of African blood, he was vocal about his views, and took any offense offered by someone lighter than him very personally. When one was a representation of the oppression and pain of an entire race, it was hard for them not to take it all incredibly personal.

 

He used to lump Tove into that category as well, the one where anyone –especially someone with skin as pale as hers- was given a life of privilege and ease. He wasn’t wrong in a very broad sense, but when he shot one pointed remark her way, Tove reacted. She reminded him that her people, the Vikings, never took African slaves. The slaves they took were English, French, and a bevy of others. Hell, they took slaves from neighboring villages they raided. They didn’t discriminate. Anyone weaker was fair game.

 

She remembered the one comment that caused the fury in his eyes to dwindle and laid the groundwork for a relationship of mutual respect.

 

“ _I’ve reaped men with skin darker than night who had souls that glowed brighter than the sun,”_ She said, _“And people as light as me with souls darker than pitch. The color of skin plays no part in the essence of a person, so why would I care?”_

 

But, when people like her sisters openly teased and mocked, she fully expected him to react and if Wednesday’s war wasn’t looming on the horizon, she’d have let it continue on without interference. As it was, Tove knew she had to step in. In truth, she might have done it to save them more than him. Anansi was an untold amount of centuries old. She genuinely didn’t have the slightest idea, and given he thrived on stories told about his homeland, he held more power than most. She didn’t want to risk him harming either of them.

 

“The two of you are well over a thousand years old.” She said to them. “Act like it.”

 

Shaking her head, she left the kitchen and her coffee on the countertop while their childish snickering followed her.

 

* * *

 

 

Shadow had a hell of a time trying to get Sweeney into the car. He was not only a giant, but he weighed a ton and was about as manageable as a marionette with its strings cut. Eventually though, he managed, and promptly drove back to the funeral home.

 

The whole way he could tell something was wrong with the Leprechaun. He couldn’t put it into words, but there was something off. It wasn’t a drunken sort of problem, either. Shadow had seen more than enough people throughout his life to know when someone was drunk or high on something, but that wasn’t Mad Sweeney. He was scattered, sometimes afraid of his own shadow, and his skin was disturbingly pale. It wasn’t just pale, either. He looked almost grey.

 

When the call came in, Shadow jumped at the chance to retrieve the possible body because he wanted to get out of the house. He wanted to put space between him and Skuld after they had sex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman that crazy –and crazy she was. He just hadn’t been able to discern if it was the bad kind or not.

 

Because of that, he was glad for the hour or so away from the funeral home, but after seeing that it was Sweeney he had to retrieve, he began to wonder if he might have been better off staying put.

 

Shadow would glance at the man beside him periodically throughout the drive. Sweeney was still staring out the window, swaying from side to side whenever the hearse hit a bump in the road. He looked broken and confused. He’d been still for so long during the drive that when he suddenly shot upright with a gasping breath, Shadow nearly had a heart attack.

 

“Jesus Christ,” He breathed heavily. “The fuck, man?”

 

Sweeney jerked his head toward Shadow. “Where is she?” He asked in a panicked tone.

 

“Who?”

 

With his eyes wide and distant, Mad Sweeney didn’t reply. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the window.

 

Shadow continued to stare at him every once and a while as he guided the hearse back up the private driveway to the funeral home. Part of him was afraid Sweeney would jump again, and Shadow didn’t want to be taken by surprise like before.

 

A few minutes later, Shadow pulled up to the funeral home and threw the vehicle into park. He noticed the Leprechaun perk again when they did. He all but plastered himself against the window, a hand pressed wide across the glass while the other fumbled for the door handle.

 

“She’s here.” He mumbled.

 

Shadow, still uncertain as to what the hell was happening, could only think to ask _who_. Sweeney eventually managed to get the door open and fell out, hitting the gravel driveway hard. He grunted and groaned, and slowly pushed himself to his feet.

 

“She’s here.” He muttered again.

 

“Who?” Shadow repeated.

 

Mad Sweeney either didn’t hear him, or simply didn’t want to answer. Instead, he bellowed, “Wife!”

 

Shadow flinched and his confusion deepened. “Wife?” he asked himself quietly.

 

He watched as Sweeney stumbled away, his heavy feet barely lifting as he walked. The Leprechaun paused for some reason, staring at some mourners standing on the outside terrace and then, in an almost panicked shuffle, he reached the front door. Shadow shook his head to himself and went in search of Wednesday to tell him that Mad Sweeney was there.

 

* * *

 

 

The weight of Gungnir was impressive. Shadow could feel the power of it, the energy that sparked within the shaft, but it was light in his hands.

 

And yet, despite the ‘honor’ of guarding the fabled weapon, Shadow could only think about the state in which he found the Leprechaun.

 

“What’s wrong with Sweeney?”

 

“The fuck do you care?” Wednesday asked casually. “He’s a fuck up, a waste of space. Besides, they don’t call him _Mad_ Sweeney for nothing.”

 

Shadow was surprised by Wednesday’s callousness when speaking about someone who, as far as he knew, was loyal to the god.

 

“He was shouting for his wife.” Shadow continued. Wednesday let out a loud, obnoxious sigh and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even know he was married.”

 

“Yeah, to Tove.” He said with disappointment, moving beyond Shadow’s clear shock with the statement. “Personally, I think she was still high. War does that to her kind, makes them stoned. I think it’s the blood.” Wednesday kept his flippant tone. “Maybe she was drunk, I don’t know. She could do a hell of a lot better.”

 

“Why was he looking for her?”

 

“Who knows?” He threw his arms into the air as he answered before he reached for the potato salad. Cradling it, he walked toward the door. “Keep that safe.”

 

He left without really elaborating on the confusing dump of information he’d thrown at Shadow. It took him a good moment or two before he managed to get his mind straight again. When he had, Shadow left the greenhouse and returned to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

Tove walked through the halls with an apple in her hands. She’d grabbed it with the express desire to eat it, but she couldn’t make herself bite into its shiny flesh. There was a pit in her stomach that prevented it, something that made her feel she may not actually want to eat it. That feeling caused her to hesitate and toss it lazily from one hand to another.

 

The Death Veil had finally landed on the property. It was so thick that it threatened to choke her. Despite the funeral taking place, Tove was well aware The Veil was different. Like she and Sigrún had discussed, The Veil signified a coming death and roughly a half hour prior, it landed on the house like an atomic bomb. It shook her to the core, and she didn’t know why.

 

Her sisters felt it too and left as a result. They were going stir-crazy anyway, lingering without an order from All Father, so they chose to kill two birds with one stone. Drinking in the nearest bar got them away from the house and gave them something to do.

 

When she rounded a corner, content to continue walking circles through the main floor of the house, Tove jumped. She’d been so lost in thought that she nearly ran head-first into Shadow.

 

“Hey, sorry.” He said, probably noting her expression.

 

She smiled lightly. “That’s alright.” She replied. “I didn’t see you.”

 

“You okay?”

 

Tove nodded. “Of course.”

 

He narrowed his eyes a little and his gaze dances over her briefly. “You sure?”

 

“It’s nothing.” She replied, doing her best to simply move past the moment.

 

“Okay,” He nodded, sounding entirely unconvinced. They began to part, but Tove only made it a step or two away before she heard Shadow speak again. “Oh, hey,” She turned to face him. “Sweeney was looking for you.”

 

She was a little confused. “He’s here?” Shadow nodded and a strange thought crossed her mind. “When did he arrive?”

 

“I don’t know.” Shadow shrugged a shoulder. “Half hour ago, I guess.”

 

A pit formed in her gut, that sinking feeling that generally accompanied something a person would rather ignore.

 

“Hey, uh,” Shadow slowly approached her, apprehensive and clearly worried. “Can I ask you something?” It was Tove’s turn to nod. “He called you his wife.”

 

Tove nodded simply once more and said, “Yes.”

 

Shadow raised a brow. “You are?”

 

He must have realized almost the instant he spoke that he hadn’t removed the skepticism from his voice and, as a result, he pursed his lips a bit, and cleared his throat.

 

“Sorry,”

 

Tove couldn’t help but smile at him again, that soft, motherly sort of smile.

 

“Don’t be.” She told him. “Most people react that way.”

 

“I bet.” He said with a slightly nervous chuckle. “So, um, you guys are a _ctually_ married?” She nodded again. “Can uh… can I ask why?”

 

She smiled again, not the slightest bit surprised that he’d want to know the reason behind it. As she’d said before, most people reacted that way.

 

“I was in Concord,” She said, giving Shadow her full attention when she spoke. “The war was still little more than a few small battles at that point, but-“

 

“Wait,” He said quickly. Tove paused. She could see intense thinking cross Shadow’s face. “The war in Concord?” She nodded. “Are… are you talking about the Revolutionary War?”

 

“Of course.” She replied.

 

His expression instantly fell and she could tell that it seemed to only just be donning on Shadow that she and the others were much older than he thought. Of course they were. Some of their legends were thousands and thousands of years old.

 

“Oh,” He muttered.

 

Tove continued, “I found myself in a local pub. Some of them men got a bit handsy and I defended myself.” She noticed him grin a little at that. “He was part of the ensuing brawl and the moment I looked into his eyes…”

 

She let her sentence dangle just a bit as she remembered that moment. It was as clear in her mind as it had been the night it happened.

 

_The air was electric and that electricity coursed through every molecule in her body. Tove spun, her gown fluttering around her in a fanciful wash of pale fabric as she threw her fist into a man’s face. His nose crunched satisfactorily beneath the strength of her hit. She turned again and the moment she did, her eyes fell to the giant on the other side of the room._

_He stood a head above the rest and inches taller than her –a rare thing to be sure. Most men were curled forward, slumped because of malnutrition and back-breaking work. But not the giant._

_He was near the back of the bar. There was a cut on his cheek and a trickle of blood. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his lips parted. He wore workmen’s clothes –a pair of trousers, worn boots, a white shirt hidden partially beneath a disheveled waist coat, and a long overcoat that fell to his knees on his shoulders. His fiery hair (unusual for Virginia) reached his shoulders. It was twisted in tendrils, not dreadlocks really, but close and it added to the feral look gleaming in his eyes._

_It was his eyes that did it, what caused her to approach him. Despite the distance between them, she could see into his soul easily. It burned brighter than the sun itself, almost blinding her no matter how far away she was._

_He stood tall in the swarm of men holding spears and bows, swords and axes. His barrel chest was bare, his thick arms filled with rolling muscle. Blue lines –claw marks they seemed- decorated each shoulder and his face. His hair was twisted and braided, showcasing his fierce gaze. Clasped firmly in his hand was a spear as tall as him._

_She saw this man, this God, staring at her through the stranger’s eyes, surrounded in the golden glow of light. He was a force of nature, a creature far beyond a mortal man, and she wanted him. The power of him, the sheer intensity of him, nearly bowled her over. It took all of her willpower not to let her knees completely give out._

_She might have smiled, drunk on the God, but she couldn’t be certain. All she knew was she was drawn to him and approached. He did the same. She ran for him, and he matched her. Tove leapt into his arms and the moment she wrapped her body around him, nothing meant anything. She kissed him, trying her best to devour the red-haired giant._

 

“Tove?”

 

She flinched and the memory faded. Her eyes found focus on the man standing across from her and it was only then that she realized she must have disappeared into her mind for longer than she meant to.

 

“I’m sorry,” She cleared her throat and tried to focus again. “Where was I?”

 

“A bar fight.” He said.

 

“Right,” She nodded softly. “We see souls.” She told him, noting his confusion. “It’s how we know who to take. We can see the essence of a person, beyond whatever walls they try to put up.” Shadow instantly diverted his gaze, unwilling to meet her eye for more than a second or two. She wasn’t surprised. “And his soul,” Tove paused as she remembered it once more. She couldn’t help but take a deep breath, running her bottom lip through her teeth. When she spoke again, she couldn’t remove the awe from her voice. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone like him. He’s…” She paused once more because, honestly, words fell short. Tove, realizing that she was dangerously close to losing herself once more, did her best to fight down the feelings inside her. “Gallons of hard cider, an exchange of swords and a bit of lace later, we were married.”

 

“For three hundred years.” Shadow muttered.

 

“I’d have a better date if I could remember exactly what day it’d been.” She joked lightly which caused him to smile a little, too. “Alcohol used to be much stronger in those days.”

 

“I bet.” He said.

 

Neither spoke for a little while. Tove let him absorb the information as best he could. She’d told him a lot, so she knew it might take a minute. Finally, Shadow said something.

 

“Well, he was looking for you. But, uh,” He hesitated briefly. “I think something’s wrong with him.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t really know.” He said. “But he’s a little off. Even for him.”

 

The pit in her stomach grew denser, but Tove forced another smile. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

Shadow didn’t seem to believe her entirely, but she didn’t really expect him to. From the small amount of time she’d spent with him, she could tell he was more in-tune than people gave him credit for.

 

She left the hall after giving Shadow a small nod. As she left, Tove somehow knew that the Veil wasn’t random. It fell completely on the property around the time Sweeney and Shadow arrived, and Shadow wasn’t the cause.

 

Tove felt tears prickle in her eyes, but she did her best to fight them back despite the deep, terrible ache inside her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's get this over with. Author's Note at the end to explain.

Mad Sweeney sat on the steps outside. He still held the piece of broken bottle from earlier, twirling it within his fingers and putting the broken lip to his mouth as though he could somehow summon alcohol from it.

 

His mind was just as broken as the bottle. Pieces were scattered around, searching for the bit they fit beside to reform into something coherent. They wouldn’t, though. Not really. His memories were like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. So many stories about him had been told through the years, so many of them believed, that each had left their mark.

 

Approaching footsteps drew his attention. Salim Not-Salim was the cause. With a kind smile that Sweeney felt was wasted on him, the much smaller man took a seat on the top step as well.

 

“What are ye doin’ here?” Sweeney asked after a bit of nothingness. He genuinely wanted to know. “What’s Wednesday got on you?”

 

Salim took in a deep breath and let it out slowly when he answered. “I am here because the Djinn is here, and the Djinn is here because he owes Mr. Wednesday.”

 

“Collects a lotta debt, don’t he?” Sweeney said. As he looked out into the garden, his gaze fell once more to the three women in black who’d greeted him when he arrived. They pulsed with shadow and in the distance he could hear the phantom screams. “Told you.” He pointed at them. “They’re Banshee, harbingers of Death.”

 

“They are women in mourning.” Salim said with just enough stress to show he was repeating himself.

 

“Fine, don’t believe me, but I’m tellin’ ya.” Sweeney toyed with his bottle piece for a little while. “The Djinn and me, we gotta stay.” He looked at the man to his side. “We owe Wednesday, but you don’t. You can go, and ya should. The war that’s comin’ it could end in yer man’s death. Doesn’t need to end in yours.”

 

Salim’s lips curled into another delicate, sad little smile. “I love him.” Salim said. Sweeney scoffed a bit obnoxiously. It wasn’t on purpose, but the sentiment was real. “I can’t explain love to someone who has never felt it before.”

 

Mad Sweeney shook his head, mostly to himself, and replied, “I’ve felt it.” His heart was heavy. “I had a family back before this, a wife.” He looked to Salim and forced a little smile of his own. “I’m startin’ to remember.” Salim gave him a reassuring nod. “Hell, I even got one now.”

 

“You are married?” He asked with a hint of surprise. Sweeney nodded. “And you love her?” He was slower to nod, but did. He hadn’t ever actually said that he loved her before, but that didn’t make it less true. “Then what makes you different than me?”

 

Sweeney’s brows rose a little when he glanced back to the man at his side. “Cos me an’ her, we ain’t got a choice. We’re both bound to Wednesday. She ain’t human, like you.”

 

Salim Not-Salim looked marginally confused. “She is a God, too?”

 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against concrete drew both his and Salim’s attention. Approaching them was Tove, her eyes on Sweeney. She’d randomly emerged from the house, and he was glad for it.

 

“No,” He muttered in a slightly mystical tone. “She’s somethin’ else.”

 

He could see Salim stare at him curiously out of the corner of his eye, probably because of the strange tone in his voice, but Sweeney couldn’t help it, or bother explaining why he was in awe if he tried. The truth was, just as he had with the Banshees, he saw Tove as she really was.

 

Most of their kind, even the lesser creatures like him, the Loas, and the Valkyrie, had another face. They had a face that they kept hidden, a form that they rarely showed, and that was what he saw.

 

There were no words to describe it, no way to relay to Salim what he saw. A slow, heavy smile pulled at his lips as he stared at her.

 

“Beautiful,” he whispered the word before raising his voice to a proper volume. “Wife,”

 

She smiled softly. “Husband,” There was a small laugh that graced the word.

 

Tove opened her arms to him, silently beckoning him to her. Sweeney, driven by some need he couldn’t identify, rose to his feet. He patted Salim’s head like he was some sort of pup as he walked by.

 

Sweeney’s boots scraped heavily against the stone, his shoulders were slumped. His grip on the piece of beer bottle loosened to the point that he dropped it. It promptly shattered against the ground, but he didn’t care.

 

When Sweeney reached her, Tove encircled him with her arms. A wave of warmth instantly swelled within him, fueled by her. He let out a sigh and let his head fall against her shoulder. Tove curled against him and even held the back of his head, softly combing his hair with her fingers. He felt better for it.

 

They remained that way for a moment or two before she spoke.

 

“Come with me.” She said.

 

He complied.

 

* * *

 

 

They sat in a parlor, a room designed for the people who attended the funerals (usually the family) to sit and compose themselves. It was quiet, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and they were alone.

 

Tove was sat on the couch leaning into the corner formed by the back and the arm of the couch. Sweeney was lying down with his long legs over the opposite end. His head was in her lap and as he told her that the Mad King’s memories were returning, she stroked his hair.

 

He couldn’t see them, but tears were slowly trailing down her cheeks as she stared at him, running her fingers through his fiery hair in the most reassuring way she could. Tove knew, the moment she saw him on the terrace with Salim, that he _was_ the reason The Veil had descended the parlor. She knew it in an instant.

 

Black pulsed off his body, a cloud of ethereal darkness that emanated from him. Before she let her presence be known, she noted the Banshees sitting in the garden by candlelight. The way the darkness surrounded them was mirrored by the giant. It was the touch of Death.

 

Tove knew instantly that Sweeney wasn’t longed for the world, and there was nothing that she could do about it. That was the curse of her species. It generally didn’t matter, knowing when someone was going to die, but there were rare instances where that knowledge threatened to rip your heart out.

 

Saint Ronan’s curse would be fulfilled that night. She’d suspected as much earlier after speaking to Shadow, but now she was certain.

 

“Tell me you can hear ‘em, too.” He said, his voice still soft and barely more than a whisper. He sounded afraid.

 

“Yes,” She said on a breath. “I hear them, too.”

 

“No one else believes me.”

 

Her heart ached. “Death knows death.” She told him softly.

 

“Baron said the same thing.” Sweeney said.

 

Her brow furrowed as she looked down at him. The pain in her chest was fathomless and there was nothing she could do or say that would matter. Once Death chose you, that was the end of it. Tove gently laid the flat of her hand on his head and when she blinked, a tear glided down her cheek, off her chin, where it fell. The small droplet of saline landed on Sweeney’s forehead. It garnered his attention. For the first time since lying down, he looked up at her.

 

His confusion was instant, twisting his features as he pushed himself up. Tove kept her eyes on his, watching him as he looked over her. He was as confused as one of those gorillas in the jungle who’d been given a mirror and saw their reflection for the first time. The thought made her smile internally, but the action never reached her lips.

 

The black continued to pulse around him, like steam curling off a human body in the cold.

 

“Yer cryin’.” He said. Sweeney reached out and held her face. “Why?”

 

Tove couldn’t bring herself to say. How can you tell someone you know they’re about to die? How can you tell them there’s nothing they can do to escape it? You can’t, but Sweeney seemed put some of the pieces together.

 

“You know who they’re wailin’ for, don’t ya?” He asked.

 

She nodded slowly. His jaw clenched and she saw him swallow hard. Tove could see the question bubbling, his desire to ask surging just beneath the surface. She waited for him to ask, but he never did.

 

Instead, a strange calm understanding washed over his face. He forced a light smile and leaned forward, still cradling her face. Tove’s eyes drifted shut on reflex.

 

She felt Mad Sweeney place a kiss on her forehead. He withdrew, but barely at all. She still felt the prickle of his beard as he lowered his lips and placed a small kiss on each of her eyes. And then, his lips brushed hers and he kissed her. She returned the sentiment, pouring more of herself into it than she had for a long time.

 

As with the kiss in New Orleans, there was a swarm of emotions that passed between them in that moment. He was tender and sweet, and it only served to hurt her more.

 

When he pulled back, Sweeney let his forehead rest against hers. They remained that way, as content in the moment as they could be until he finally spoke.

 

“This ends tonight.” He said.

 

Tove’s heart felt as though someone was squeezing the very life out of it. She felt him draw back and heard him stand, but she couldn’t open her eyes and watch as he walked away. But she heard it, heard his heavy feet take him out of the room and closer to his fate.

 

Fifteen minutes later, she felt it. Tove’s eyes shot open and a strangled gasp left her lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the greenhouse, Shadow still couldn’t bring himself to his feet. He couldn’t even tear his eyes away from the Leprechaun lying in a pool of his own blood, struggling to gain a single breath. He hadn’t even register Gungnir being vanished into whatever ‘the sun’s treasure’ was.

 

Without warning, the air began to vibrate, to sway and move around him. Shadow turned a frightened eye toward the door, the source of the energy. He saw the way it twisted, as though something was trying to push through, and soon he was proven right.

 

Through forming mist and shadow, through the nothingness that was once there, a figure emerged. Tove. Shadow was paralyzed, frozen into place by the sheer beauty, and majesty of what he saw. And it was terrifying.

 

She appeared in the room mid-stride, walking toward him and the others as though she’d entered the greenhouse normally. Pale, shimmering, silvery fabric billowed around her. The dress she wore held no true shape, and yet still seemed to form perfectly to her body. In truth, it seemed to be made of the same mist that surrounded her –there, but not there at the same time.

 

Her brilliant eyes shined the brightest blue he’d ever seen, like two glowing beacons in the night. Her raven’s-wing hair was down in a long cascade that touched her waist. It fluttered in the same unseen and unfelt breeze that touched her clothing.

 

She exuded such power and grace that Shadow was dumbfounded by it and her sudden appearance, and yet, there was more that robbed him of his wits. Just behind her shoulders, barely visible and still undeniably there, were wings. They flickered in and out of sight, less tangible than her ethereal clothing, but real –a pair of large, black wings, folded behind her. There were so large, in fact, that as she passed him, Shadow could see them drag across the floor.

 

He felt like he was seeing her for the first time, the real her that Tove kept hidden beneath a human mask.

 

Tove glided past him without a second glance and knelt at Sweeney’s side. The dying Leprechaun looked up at her and tried to force a smile, but it was as weak as his body had become. Tove tenderly set her hand on his wound. Sweeney reached for it, smearing blood across her ivory skin.

 

“I used to be a king.” He told her breathily.

 

Shadow saw her small smile that faded just a moment later. Tove leaned forward even further. She cradled Sweeney’s jaw and stared at him lovingly. A single, shining, silver tear trailed gently down her cheek.

 

“You are still my king.” She whispered just before pressing her lips to his forehead.

 

Before she withdrew, Shadow heard Sweeney breathe his last and wondered briefly if that was the reason behind the kiss. Tove let her forehead rest against the leprechaun’s, tears still staining her cheeks. Shadow could feel her sadness, the loss that surrounded her, and his guilt was immediate. He hadn’t meant to kill Sweeney. It was just reflex.

 

“Leave him.”

 

Wednesday’s cold voice sliced through the tender moment that had completely captivated Shadow. Tove wasn’t pleased he’d spoken.

 

Her head shot up and Shadow swore he felt the temperature drop.

 

“Never,” She told him cruelly. “He is mine.”

 

Wednesday arched a brow as he looked at her with sheer annoyance. “Leave. Him.” He repeated.

 

“I said, _never_.” Her voice was soft, but the word she stressed echoed in a loud, booming way regardless. It caused Shadow to physically jump.

 

Wednesday scowled. Tove’s eyes drifted back to Sweeney. Shadow had risen to his feet and stepped around to see the scene unfold in profile. He was mystified by it, entirely consumed.

 

Tove tenderly set her hand on Sweeney’s chest once more. Her gown continued to flutter around her, her hair doing the same in the unseen breeze. As she drew back, a golden, blinding ball of light began to emerge from the Leprechaun’s chest. The higher she pulled it, the brighter it became until Shadow had no choice but to shield his eyes. Even then it was so bright he had to turn away. No matter how tightly he held them shut, or the fact that his hands were secured over them, he could still see the brilliant light.

 

It felt like he was staring at the sun.

 

When it finally faded seconds later, he opened his eyes once more. Shadow blinked the spots away and when he had, he noticed that Tove was gone. Sweeney’s body was still there, yet somehow, Shadow knew it was empty. He knew that the Mad King’s soul was gone and Tove had been the one to take it.

 

* * *

 

 

The cool breeze helped temper the midday sun. It rolled off the ocean, curled up the towering cliffs, and glided across the grassy fields where he laid.

 

A distant call of a seabird roused him from his sleep. He tore open heavy eyes and saw the endless blue sky, dotted with wisps of translucent white clouds -not thick enough to block the sun, or full enough to rain. They were simply there, breaking up the ocean above.

 

He sat up and looked around. He was lying in a pool of emerald grass that swayed in the wind, rippling in a hypnotic way every time it blew. A few dozen yards ahead, the emerald suddenly ended. It was a drop-off, the edge of a high cliff that plunged to the ocean below. He could hear the water crashing against it.

 

Confused, he rose to his feet. Keen eyes continued to dance around. This was familiar. He knew this place –from the craggy rocks, to the tree line that stretched endlessly behind him.

 

As his gaze swung from left to right once more, he noticed something that hadn’t been there before. There would have been no missing it. The flat landscape before him offered no place for a person to hide, and yet, there was suddenly a person standing on the edge of the cliff.

 

Awareness straightened his back and heightened his senses. He approached the being, his leather-clad feet falling into the fresh grass silently. It was female, the figure in the distance, and her back was to him. He approached in profile, moving toward her sideways to keep his body safe. His position offered a smaller target should she attack.

 

The wind threw her dress into the air. Long tendrils of waist-length, black hair did the same, dancing and twisting.

 

He continued to stalk toward the stranger like a cat stalking toward its prey. His body was primed with a coming fight that, until he was perhaps ten feet from her, he hadn’t realized would never happen. When he was close enough she seemed to sense him, the young woman turned. Their eyes locked and he was motionless.

 

Every tight muscle in his body loosened. A wave of relief, of calm, swept through him, and it allowed him to face her completely. His brows pulled together in confusion. Somewhere, somewhere _deep_ inside his mind, he recognized those fluorescent blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.

 

He narrowed his eyes. “I know you.” He said to her. She said nothing, but things were happening in his head, pieces were beginning to fall into place, to ‘un-fog’.

 

His gaze drifted to his hands, his arms –to the rest of him.

 

Cuffs of leather were tied around each forearm, rising roughly half-way to his elbows. Bands of braided leather were tied just above the bulge of each bicep and his chest was entirely bare. A thick, braided coil of gold was wrapped around his neck like a collar, but it didn’t quite meet forming a complete circle. His breeches were leather as well, leather and golden fabric fashioned in an ancient design that matched his boots.

 

Curious fingers touched each adornment, helping him commit them to memory and count each piece. When he touched his hair, he realized that it was braided away from his face -five interwoven strips of his fiery mane that combined into a much thicker plait at the back of his head. He felt the bite of something sharp stuck within his locks –many of them- and somehow knew they were quills.

 

His hands trailed down the sides of his face, across his beard and down his chin where there was yet another braid. He could see himself in his mind’s eye, see the warrior without the war paint –the warrior from a distant time.

 

He looked at her again and in a low voice, he muttered, “I remember.”

 

Her face softened with a smile. “There’s no madness here.” She told him. Her delicate voice caused his skin to prickle. His feet took him closer. “There are no Grey Monks, no curses, or stories of fairies. You’re who you always were, Lugh.”

 

He flinched as a shock of familiarity touched him. To add to his surprise, she bowed her head to him, a sign of respect to anyone, no matter their origin.

 

“I’m dead.” He said.

 

Tove raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were sad, tears welling and causing them to glisten.

 

“Yes,” she answered on a breath.

 

The God King was surprised that the answer didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Perhaps it was simply the clarity offered by a clear mind. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the Former Mad Sweeney wasn’t clouded with a thousand different stories. For centuries, he’d been lost, almost like standing in a foggy, hazy forest. He knew there was a way out, but no matter how hard he tried to remember, or how far he wandered, he never found the edge.

 

It had been like that for hundreds of years.

 

Ever had a day that seemed to go on forever? Minutes felt like hours and no matter how much you wanted it to change, wanted time to hurry up, it wouldn’t.

 

Now imagine more than 36, 500 of those. That was only a century. The legend of Mad Sweeney was over a thousand years old.

 

He had spent so long wandering in that hazy forest, so long broken and lost that he eventually accepted Mad Sweeney and forgot all about Lugh. It hadn’t been all bad, though. In the hundreds of thousands of days of endless madness, he’d been given a few of respite.

 

Lugh continued his slow approach until he stood within arm’s reach of the Viking woman. He looked down at her, further down than he ever had before. She almost had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. That had never been the case before.

 

His hand came forward and as he swept the back of his fingers across her cheek, he noticed that even his hand was bigger. Somehow, Lugh knew it wasn’t her who’d changed. It was him. _He_ was the one who was taller, his hands larger.

 

Understanding swelled within his chest and brought a warmth to him. He was as he should have been, how he used to be. The God King of the Sun had spent so long being beaten down and forced to feel small that he _became_ small. He’d withered. But now, here in this world, he stood proudly once more at his seven-plus feet.

 

“What happens now?” He asked. Lugh slid his hand along her neck to the back of her head where he held it tenderly.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

He lifted his head and glanced around the idyllic scene briefly. “What is this place?”

 

“Home,” She said, drawing his gaze.

 

“Where’s everyone else?”

 

“It’ll fill in.” She went on to explain. “Once I’m gone-“

 

“What?” He interrupted her sharply.

 

He saw sadness even though she did her best to keep it hidden. “I can’t stay here.”

 

“Why?” He had tried to not growl the word, but didn’t succeed.

 

“Because I’m beholden to Odin.”

 

Lugh dropped his hand from her shoulder and took a stilted step away. “Fuckin’ Wednesday. That fuckin’ one-eyed cunt. I’ll fuckin’-“

 

He continued to speak through his teeth, hurling insults at the deity who had ruined a fair portion of his life. He hated the man more than he could genuinely express, so it emerged as little more than childish insults.

 

Toward the end of his rant, Lugh returned his eye to Tove. She hadn’t moved, still standing in the same spot with her hands clasped in front of her, and that constant look of sadness. His shoulders slumped as a result.

 

She seemed to sense he was finished and spoke again. “When I’m gone, you’ll begin to forget.” Genuine panic reached him. “This world will start to fill in. You’ll go about your life as you normally would, and people, places –all of it- will just _be._ ”

 

His brow creased as he walked over to her once again. “I don’t wanna forget again.”

 

And he didn’t. There was a very real fear in forgetting. A curse had already robbed him of his life, and he didn’t want it to happen again. But Tove only smiled that soft, small, reassuring little smile as she looked up at him.

 

“It’s not like real forgetting.” She told him. “I’ll just… fade, a little bit.”

 

The sinking feeling in his gut grew. For some reason, ‘fading’ sounded worse than simply forgetting. Even if it was just his imagination at that point, Lugh ran through his memories of Tove and saw them slowly disappear. Knowing that it would happen made it harder to accept.

 

He stood over her once more and reached out. Lugh threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her close. He strained his neck just to let his forehead rest against hers. His eyes drifted shut.

 

Tove stepped even closer, until her chest was pressed to his. He felt her hands grasp at his back, her dull fingernails digging briefly into the muscles of his shoulders. They lingered until he felt her shift. Tove lifted her head and body, probably standing on the tips of her toes, and her lips brushed his. Lugh let his lips part and kissed her.

 

They kissed one another for a little while until, for whatever reason, he drew back slightly. Lugh was sure he could still feel her lips on his when he spoke.

 

“Stay,” he whispered against them.

 

“As long as I can.” She replied before tenderly nipping at his bottom lip. When she had, he kissed her again, but it was filled with more passion than before.

 

He had no intentions of letting her go at that moment. She belonged to him.

 

Lugh lifted her into his arms, guiding her legs around his waist. Their kiss broke as a result. It was her turn to look down at him, and for him to crane his neck.

 

She sweetly held the sides of his head, staring at him with an emotion he hadn’t seen in such a long time. He recognized it, and knew he felt the same. Mad Sweeney might never have said the words, but Lugh would.

 

“I love you,” He told her.

 

A light flickered in her eyes, a sign that she was surprised by what he’d said. But the way she relaxed against him and the smile that followed his declaration told him she was glad.

 

Tove looked over his face. She delicately touched his cheek with her fingertips and said, “I love you.”

 

He couldn’t immediately express what it felt like to hear those words and know, with certainty, that they were true.

 

Lugh kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Let me explain. If I didn't think his death would be such a major point in Season 3, I would've kept him alive. As it is, it just feels like it's going to be something big, so, ta-dah. BUT! Laura can have Sweeney's body because Tove gets his soul. That's more important. Let me know what you guys think and, I'll see you next season!


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